


Gold Running Through My Veins

by hazzayoudoing



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Angst and Fluff and Smut, Belgium (Country), Boys Kissing, Brussels and Bruges, Competition, Enemies to Lovers, Gay Sex, Gymnastics, M/M, Men's Artistic Gymnastics, OT5, Olympics, Oral Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-25
Updated: 2016-08-25
Packaged: 2018-08-11 00:57:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 24,853
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7869007
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hazzayoudoing/pseuds/hazzayoudoing
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>Harry can’t help himself when he leers. No one ever said you had to be unaffected by your own teammate’s body. Louis has a great one. He’s compact with muscle, curves in places Harry could only dream to touch one day. They hate each other, on the surface. It’s always been this way. Some ribbing here, some eyebrow raises there. But Harry would be lying if he was forced to admit he’s never thought of Louis in a different way. </em>
</p><p>  <em>“Take a picture, Styles. It’ll last longer,” Louis says as he ambles past with Zayn. His board shorts brush Harry’s shoulder, water droplets cool to the touch. </em></p><p> <em>“Fuck off,” Harry responds. He’s got his part to play.</em></p><p>Or, an Olympic gymnastics AU that finds sworn enemies Harry Styles and Louis Tomlinson on the same Olympic team, battling it out for gold medals in Belgium while they fall, quite stubbornly, in love. Featuring a steamy striptease in an empty gym, Harry canoodling with a gymnast from another country, a bit of sight-seeing in gorgeous Belgium and some really delicious waffles.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, hello and thanks for reading! Apologies if I butcher really obvious Men's Gymnastics moves - I'm no expert, but I did used to be a competitive gymnast back in the day and Google has been my friend throughout writing this fic. I also don't hail from Belgium, so please don't throw things at me if I got anything a bit wrong. 
> 
> Hope you love it!

**H**

 

Harry surveys the crowd, tries to force himself to commit this feeling to memory. The roar, the sheer amount of volume and noise that seems so much bigger than him echoes in his ears. He claps his hands once and a burst of chalk explodes in front of his face. He inhales and takes in the musty smell, exhales it and shakes out his arms.

His coach stands somewhere out of his periphery. He can’t see him, but he feels him—the waves of anxiety rolling off and hitting him square in the stomach. In three seconds, he deduces that he will puke. But in two seconds, the band of stone-faced judges signal for him to begin. He shoves the queasy feeling deep down where it can’t get out, and he faces the high bar. It’s tall, but Harry’s tall too. His height gives him an advantage on this event.

He positions his body under the bar and is just about to begin his last routine of the day when he sees him. _That_ face. The face that is overly punchable. The face that is smirking at him right now and trying to throw him off his game. Harry adjusts the sleeve of his leotard with a snap, tries to pay him no attention. The din of the crowd dims a little to his ears as he jumps up to the bar and gets his swings going.

In a matter of seconds, this will all be over. This event is the only thing standing between him and qualifying for the men’s final gymnastics team being sent to Brussels this year for the Olympics. The crowd gasps appropriately when he does one release, then another. His body flies through the air, precise and controlled. When he flings himself into his dismount, he sees stars. When his feet land, no hop or bobble in sight, he closes his eyes for a moment to burn this memory into his brain.

 _Remember this_.

When he opens them, he sees that face again. Louis Tomlinson, arch-rival and all-around stuckup gym rat who considers himself to be God’s gift to the sport. He’s no longer smirking this time. Looks more like he’s just seen a ghost, his face pale against the gleaming navy of his leotard.

Harry shoots him a cocky smile, hopes he now realizes that Harry Styles is not here to mess around. He’s getting on this team and he’s going to be the very one to beat. He’s getting on it, no matter how good Louis Tomlinson thinks he is. No matter how good the rest of the American men competing are.

When he does his final salute and waits for the score that’s about to launch him into United States Olympic history, he spares one last look over to Louis before immediately seeking out his family in the audience. His mom is bawling, typical. His sister looks like she’s about to have a stroke. His step-dad is holding up a homemade sign.

**_Harry’s Going for the Gold — San Francisco Loves You!_ **

This goal has been just out of his reach for the last few years. He’s 23, he’s been killing his body to make it to this point. Now it’s here, it’s really happening.

When the final scores trickle in and Harry gets to hear his name announced to the Olympic team, he sheds a few happy tears. Niall Horan, Liam Payne, Zayn Malik… and of course, Louis Tomlinson of all people, join him in the tide of emotion. They’ve made the team, too.

“Think you’re so good,” Louis whispers to him as they stand beaming on the podium. Someone’s just handed him flowers and Niall, who hails from Georgia and has a twang so thick Harry can never understand him, is audibly sobbing.

“I know I’m good. You’re just jealous I finally beat you,” Harry growls back, elbowing Louis to step in front of him for the blinding flashbulbs of cameras. Their grinning faces are about to grace every cereal box in America. He needs to look like a million bucks.

“I can’t believe we made it, boys,” Zayn says with pride radiating through his voice. He’s from Colorado and is wiry, strangely good at the pommel horse. Harry keeps grinning, looking straight into the light. Their lives are about to change. There’s nowhere to go but up.

 

**L**

 

“Again,” Coach Mendella shouts. His voice is gruff and it pisses Louis off more than usual this morning. It’s barely 6, the sun not even up in the sky yet, and Louis has been at this pass for the last hour. If he could just get it right, get coach off his back for a minute, he’d feel a little better.  

Mendella’s a legend, known for his wry sense of humor and his commitment to pulling the best team he possibly can out of thin air. That means he pushes his team members. He’s been pushing Louis on his tumbling for ages. Louis would rather pass out from exhaustion, but he can’t. He’s got the basic moves down. This tumbling pass is usually the type he could do in his sleep. It’s the landing that’s fucking with him.

Every time his feet slam down, it puts him right in the vicinity of the mirrored wall. Not a problem, most days. His old gym had mirrored walls. Made it easier for his coaches to look at his blind spots, see all the ways he could improve. But today’s the first day of full team training at Grier Lake Gym, the premiere spot where American men vying for Olympic glory go to train. Mirrors mean he can’t escape the gaze from Harry. He’s been watching him like a hawk all morning and it’s throwing him off.

“I can do this. I’ve done this a million times,” Louis grumbles. He passes Liam as he walks to the opposite side of the floor, lining himself up for another go.

“You’re overthinking it. Your last rotation’s got your chest too low to the ground. Arch back a bit. It’ll have you landing cleaner and you won’t stumble so much,” Liam says while he’s doing a bevvy of pushups. He switches to doing them with one arm then, frowning in concentration. Louis tries hard not to roll his eyes at the obvious showboating going on.

Liam’s from Connecticut and was the darling of his university team. He’s racked up near-wins at every championship he’s been a part of. Stylistically, technically, he’s pretty damn close to perfect. Socially though, he’s a bit of a nightmare. Louis shakes off his comments, annoyed that they sound helpful despite Liam’s snotty tone. He squares his shoulders and focuses on the next few seconds. He launches into his tumbling pass, arching up just a bit on his last trick. Lo and behold, he sticks that landing.

“Better. Keep it up, Tomlinson,” Coach says, squeezing his shoulder. Louis hates that Liam was right about this but it doesn’t even matter. At least he got through to him enough that Louis was able to ignore the blatant attention from Harry. He looks at him leaning up against the pommel horse, smug as fuck, his long hair tied back in a bun. He’s got a Green Bay Packers shirt on that’s ripped at the sleeves, paired with tight black shorts. When he moves, you get a glimpse of the tattoos inked all down his arms. Louis hates him. He really does.

“You’re staring again,” Zayn says from off to his right as he walks off the floor and beelines it for his water bottle. Zayn’s his best friend on the team. They’ve trained together in Colorado for years, went to college and competed at UC Boulder. He was pumped when him and Zayn both finally sailed through trials. When you’re away from home so long, especially in this sport, having a familiar face around is better than paying for weeks of therapy.

“He was staring first. Why the fuck is he wearing a football shirt from Wisconsin of all places? The guy’s from California. No cheese-whiz in sight out there. I’ve seen him eat kale salads in the middle of meets before. Fucking hippy,” Louis says, cocking his hip and taking a swig from his water bottle. Him and Harry Styles, they’ve got quite the complicated history.

 

**H**

 

Harry Styles hates South Carolina. Realistically, it’s not so different from California. There is sun. There is a beach close by. They’re also pretty close to a beautiful lake, so that’s maybe a plus. But honestly, California’s got nothing on the bugs in the Carolinas. He’d been warned before he got here that he’d have to keep an eye out for some larger-than-life flying critters, but this is ridiculous.

Team training morning session is over, and Harry finds himself back in the open living quarters for Team USA. They’re all sharing a communal room, bunk beds shoved up against wood-slatted walls. It’s like being in a very expensive summer camp. Nothing but the best for the men of gymnastics. God bless America.

Harry only wanted to take a nap. That was all he wanted when he got back to the room. The communal area is free because most of his teammates are popping in to the team physical therapy pen. Getting iced up and rubbed down. Harry’s feeling alright, with the exception of this bug situation.

He’s been in a stare-down with what he’s been told is a palmetto bug for the last four minutes. He’s counted. He was about to crawl into bed and forget the ache in his muscles when a shadow scurried into his field of vision. The bug’s perched on top of his bedpost and he’s got a shoe out, ready to strike—if only he had the courage.

“Is this a part of your weird training ritual? What do they teach you people in California?” Louis asks as he strolls in. He’s got a knee brace on and is staring at Harry like he’s crazy. Maybe he is.

“Shhhh, you’re going to frighten it even more. I’ve been watching it forever. I’m so close to smacking it but I’m afraid it’s going to fly at me,” Harry says, crouching down a little lower. If he stays just far enough away when he hits, maybe it won’t launch itself directly into his hair. That would be ideal.

“Scared of a little bug, are you? No wonder I edged you out on floor and high bar at so many meets these last few years. Makes sense,” Louis says, laughing to himself.

“Does this look little to you? Look at the _size_ of this thing. Look at the antennae. Disgusting,” Harry mutters. He has no time to defend himself against Louis. He can hear the over-confidence in his tone and wants to fight back, but there are bigger problems to attend to at the moment. The bug moves and Harry reels back, shrieking. Louis isn’t going to let him forget this one, he can feel it already. Louis grabs the shoe out of his hand and smacks a few times, smushing the bug somewhere on top of Harry’s bed sheets.

“Guess you’ll be doing laundry tonight. Unless you want to bunk in my bed, _baby doll_. Might be too scary to sleep alone,” Louis says with a wink. Harry rips the sheets off his bed and stalks off to the laundry room.

“Never in a million years,” he mutters as he leaves. He’s going to have to throw his shoe away. He’s also going to have to burn these sheets if washing them isn’t enough. They’ve got afternoon practice in another hour. He still needs to wolf down lunch and try to sneak a little meditation in before warm-ups begin. He shoves his sheets into the washer, clicking it to the hottest setting it can go. Louis’ peals of laughter follow him down the hall as he walks to the cafeteria for lunch.

Harry has his Olympic diet down to a very precise science. A heaping salad. A bowl of fruit. Steamed chicken. Vegetables on top of vegetables. He shares a table with Niall and watches in slight horror while he shovels macaroni and cheese into his mouth. He barely has time to take a breath.

“Lordy, that morning practice damn near wiped me out,” Niall says between forkfuls. Niall’s strongest on rings, floor exercise and parallel bars. For such a powerful gymnast, he eats like shit. Harry watches him for a few seconds, feeling a little nauseated.

“Niall, you’re from the South. What are your thoughts on palmettos?” he asks while he spears a cucumber and pops it into his mouth. Niall laughs, an intense little cackle that bursts out of him.

“They’re disgusting but they’re nothing compared to paper wasps. Stink bugs are worst of all. They like to try and ruin all the crops at my daddy’s farm. You should come out sometime, Harry. A little southern hospitality might do you good after all this Olympic business is over,” Niall says, whacking Harry on the back. He chokes on some of his salad and nods along.

He pictures himself on Niall’s farm, swiping peaches and home-grown tomatoes, maybe sitting with him on a porch drinking sweet tea. It sounds great.

“Might take you up on that. Louis was giving me shit because one of those palmettos scared me earlier. I hate him,” Harry says. Niall snorts, starts in on some of his garlic bread.

“Both of you are crazy and way too competitive. Hey, do you think Mendella’s gonna go easy on us in afternoon practice? I’ve got a phone call I have to make tonight and am jonesing to get out early,” Niall says, shoving the remaining bread in his mouth and smiling at Harry. Niall gets up and buses his tray, leaving Harry sitting alone with no answers for him. Mendella will want them in the gym any minute. The temperature’s rising today and Harry’s dreading having to fling his body around in a heat like this. He wipes away a bit of sweat already forming on his forehead and leaves the cafeteria. Afternoon practice is where the real work will have to begin.

 

**L**

 

Zayn shouldn’t be allowed to move the way he does. It should be illegal, to be so good at one event. Louis still hasn’t tapped into how he does it, the way he’s able to keep his legs so tight, keep his toes perfectly pointed. He moves in a blur, scissoring this way and that, pushing up into complicated handstands, dismounting like it’s nothing. He’s seen him do this particular event a million times but it never gets old.

Afternoon practice on the second day of team training finds them being put to test on their strongest events. Coach has them running a practice meet to prepare them for the actual Olympic stage. Liam, Harry and Louis are competing for spots in the all-around, while Niall and Zayn are more specialized. Zayn wipes a small bit of chalk from his forehead and grins at Louis, pinching his cheeks.

“Get off me, you douchebag. You’re going to get my face all gross and chalky,” Louis says, shoving him away. Coach doesn’t look amused, has commented a few times to Zayn and Louis that they need to act more professional. Less like hyena brothers, more like serious gymnasts.

“Aw, you’re just scared Harry’s gonna think you look ridiculous, aren’t you? Your boy’s not even looking this way. He’s too busy messing around with perfect Liam on the rings,” Zayn says, fluttering his eyelashes at him. He’s too pretty for his own good, really. Their next rotation’s at rings and Louis and Zayn make their way over to Liam, Harry and Niall.

“He’s _not_ my boy. If anything, he’s my sworn enemy. The most loathed of them all. You of all people should know that,” Louis whispers to Zayn as they congregate with the rest of the group. Him and Harry have been going toe-to-toe for years now. Louis had noticed him at his very first national competition, was appalled at the tall, gangling idiot who somehow snuck his way into the gym and started giving him a run for his money.

They were still in high school then, both of them. Louis was a senior, technically, preferring to do all his schooling the old-fashioned way—at home. With his severe training schedule, high school had to be put on the back-burner. He’d been sweeping every competition he’d been to until Harry Styles came along.

At the first meet he’d competed against him, Harry beat him by 2/10ths of a point on the floor exercise, which was just insane to him. Every time Harry would do a leap that seemed impossibly complicated for his long-limbed body to manage, Louis’ heart would break a little more. He wasn’t used to having real competition, not like this.

It didn’t help that Harry was cute. Dangerously so. Back then, his signature curly locks that all the girls screamed for was cut shorter. He’d land a tricky tumbling pass and his hair would keep moving, having a mind of its own. Fans would be out in droves to watch him, falling all over themselves at his feet. He’d smile that cocky smile of his and the world would fall in love.

Through college, Louis had found a best friend in Zayn as well as an equal competitor. They’d bump into Harry at college invitationals too - same with Niall and Liam too. None of them were total strangers at this stage. They’d been all circling around each other at various competitions. Different coaches, different tricks, but same stakes. They all wanted Olympic glory, no matter where they came from.

Harry and him led an antagonistic relationship through all the competitions. If Harry did a double front salto tucked off the rings, Louis would up the difficulty and go for piked. They played like that always, one-upping each other every chance they got and trash talking all the same.

Coach claps his hands when their whole group is assembled at rings, pointing at Liam first.

“You’re up, Payne. Show them how it’s done,” he barks. Liam preens at the attention, happy to oblige.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**H**

 

They have an unexpected afternoon off, mid-week. Coach has a meeting with the National Committee to discuss the team’s progress so they have free run of the lake. Training’s been hell and so has been learning how to sleep soundly in a room where four other men snore. Harry is exhausted, a little fragile emotionally, and he welcomes the time off.

“Pass me the sunscreen, sunshine. I burn like sizzled bacon out here, ya feel me,” Niall mutters to Harry’s right. They’re splayed out on lounge chairs that they dragged to the edge of the lake. Harry tosses him some SPF 30, a little charmed that their resident Southern boy is so concerned with the shade of pink on his skin. The lake glitters, sparkling in the sun. Grier Lake campus is something like it’s own little island, enclosed by palm trees and thick foliage to keep prying media eyes away.

“If anyone’s burning, it’s definitely Liam. Look at him out there in the water. He’s been on that raft for the last half hour and hasn’t budged,” Harry says, pointing out Liam resting with his eyes closed on a cherry red floatie. He can spot his abs from here, grooved and defined. If Harry didn’t truly find Liam so annoying and holier-than-thou, he’d probably find him attractive.

“He’s a nice guy, right? He helped me out on the bar, pointed out something with my grip that managed to get me more height than I was getting before,” Niall says, wiggling his toes as he stretches out on the lounger.

“Liam’s thinks he has every answer on what is going to make our team the best. His opinion _always_ has to be right, apparently. He really can’t take much criticism,” Harry says. He notes Niall’s slightly hurt face, sees him duck his head and blush. “It’s good he helped you, Niall. It’s great you’re getting better. Not that you need help,” Harry adds. A smile returns to Niall’s face. He never wants to say anything ever again to make it leave. Niall’s too pure, too good-hearted to ever be sad. He baked all the competitors mini peach crumbles back at one of their meets in college. Harry’s never forgotten.

Harry strips his shirt off, the mugginess of the Carolina heat getting to him now. A little color couldn’t hurt, would make his United States leotard really pop when they start shooting photos for their endorsement deals. A shriek sounds from out in the lake. Louis and Zayn have been swimming around, splashing each other far away from Liam, who made it very clear he didn’t want to be disturbed. But now, they’ve surfaced right underneath Liam’s float.

In an instant, Liam’s tumbling into the lake. Zayn and Louis are laughing so much they’re choking. Liam’s head pops out from the water, droplets pooling on top of his buzz cut. He’s spluttering and for once, looks completely surprised at what has just happened to him.

“Boys, I told you I didn’t want in the water. Lakewater is horrific for your skin. I can’t believe you two,” Liam yells, lifting himself out of the water with effort. His skimpy bathing suit almost slips down the curve of his ass but he catches it just in time, pulling himself back up onto his raft like it’ll save him from the terror that is Louis and Zayn together.

“God, he’s always such a dick. Louis can never leave anything alone,” Harry says softly, more to himself than anything. Niall shifts on his lounge chair, laughing away at the scene in front of them. The sound shakes something loose in Harry, a coil of anxiety that he’s been carrying with him since he got named to the Olympic team.

He forgets that it can be fun, forgets that gymnastics isn’t always the only thing that exists in the universe around them. Zayn and Louis crawl out of the lake, picking their way across the rocky shores and coming closer to where Niall and Harry are sitting.

Harry can’t help himself when he leers. No one ever said you had to be unaffected by your own teammate’s body. Louis has a great one. He’s compact with muscle, curves in places Harry could only dream to touch one day. They hate each other, on the surface. It’s always been this way. Some ribbing here, some eyebrow raises there. But Harry would be lying if he was forced to admit he’s never thought of Louis in a different way.

“Take a picture, Styles. It’ll last longer,” Louis says as he ambles past with Zayn. His board shorts brush Harry’s shoulder, water droplets cool to the touch.

“Fuck off,” Harry responds. He’s got his part to play.

 

**L**

 

The blood has rushed to Louis’ head but he’s not about to bow out now. He’s been in a handstand pirouette contest with the rest of the American team for the past 13 minutes, and no one’s backing down. It’s not fair, really, for all of them to be so good. He grunts a little as he continues to spin, feeling the burn in his upper arm muscles and shoulders. His shirt slipped down his shoulders long ago and he was able to walk himself out of the armholes.

After this, he’s heading straight to the ice baths. They put in a solid day of practice today, all the boys really starting to hit their stride. Liam’s managed to give them all unsolicited advice and has taken his tone level down from ‘obsessed know-it-all’ to ‘friendly know-it-all’ so that’s a feat in itself. Coach seemed pleased with them for the first time since they’ve started training. They’ve been turning the pressure level up to 11 all week and Louis’ body feels like it’s been through a battering ram.

Zayn drops first, which is shocking. Coach hoots at that and berates him with a flurry of insults. For a guy who spends most of his time on a pommel horse, Louis was certain he’d last longer.

“Zaynie, you can’t leave me,” Louis yells through gritted teeth. Liam drops next, blames it on wanting to get into bed early. They have their very first press day in the morning, reporters from every major national and international media outlet flocking to be the first to interview “The Ferocious, Flying Five” as they’ve dubbed them. Niall drops next (“Oh my stars, my arms are jello y’all!”) and limps out of the gym giggling at his own terrible joke.

“One of you has to quit,” Coach says. Louis watches him lean against the mirror, upside-down. He spots Harry in the mirror, twirling around with ease.

“Not a chance,” Harry yells, his legs shifting down easily into a straddle.

Well, then.

Louis really needs to tear his eyes away from him, needs him to get out of his head already but it’s futile. When a hot as hell male gymnast wearing tight spandex shorts straddles, you don’t just get to skip the fantasizing part. Louis’ glad for his looser shorts today. Awkward boners are always awkward, even for Olympic hopefuls. Coach paces back and forth, checking his watch.

“If you aren’t giving up, Styles, I’m not either,” Louis yells. Coach throws his hands up and tells them to lock up. They’ve been at this for 23 minutes now and Louis’ arms feel like spaghetti noodles. But it’s Harry Styles. He can’t give up to Harry Styles. It’s silent in the gym now, save for the padding of their hands on the floor mat and the little groans they both emit as they circle.

“Spare yourself, Harry. Kick down and I won’t make fun of you too badly when you skip off to the locker room,” Louis says with a hiss. Sweat is beading on his neck. He feels disgusting. Harry inches closer to him on his hands. Louis is squinting a little and starts moving himself backwards to get away but it’s either smack into the mirror and accept defeat, or let him move into his personal space. He chooses the latter.

He can smell Harry’s shampoo from here, some peach stuff that stinks up the showers every morning. Niall loves it though, tells everyone around that it reminds him of home. He’s out of room to keep spinning with Harry so close, both of them now just stuck in handstands, facing each other.

“Give up yet, baby doll?” Harry asks. He gives Louis a wide grin, showing off his pearly teeth. A strand of hair has escaped Harry’s bun. It hangs down, nearly touching the floor. Louis’ arms do a little wobble and he knows he can’t hold on much longer.

“Please. Could pirouette around you all day if I had to. You think you’re the best gymnast in the world. Have you not been paying attention, Styles?” Louis asks.

“I pay a lot of attention to you, Louis. The way you tumble, the way you move, the way your leotard fits you _just right_ ,” Harry says in a raspy tone. Louis shifts his hands, tries to keep his balance, tries to keep his cool.

“Get off it. _You_ fake hitting on me isn’t going to make me come down first. Sorry, try again,” Louis says, forcing the quaver out of his voice.

“I get it. You have to win. You have to be the very _fucking_ best and you have to be in total control. But guess what, I like to be in control too. I like it a lot. If we hooked up, I'd want to toss you around like a rag doll,” Harry drawls. Louis has no idea where this is coming from but he doesn’t hate it.

“As if I’d fuck you, Harry. Aren’t there fraternization rules somewhere buried in the Olympic handbook?” Louis says, wincing at the pain building in his shoulders and the heat expanding in his groin.

“Rules are for amateurs. We’re champions, aren’t we?” Harry asks, his eyes steady on Louis’. Louis’ head is spinning. He eyes up Harry, decides to put him on the spot, see if he has the balls to backup his giant mouth.

“I’m a champion. Winner gets gloating rights. Loser gets a kiss,” Louis says. He’s silent then, careful not to make any sudden moves. He’s not about to topple over, isn’t about to give it up to the egomaniac in front of him. Harry licks his lips and kicks down.

 

**H**

 

“So tell us, you’ve all been competing against each other for years. What’s it like being together now on the national team? Has it been hard to put away your natural competitive streaks in order to work as one unit?” the woman from ABC, or was it NBC, asks. She’s got on a magenta suit and sports frosted blonde hair shellacked into place with a boatload of hairspray. She bounces one tan heel against her calf, smiling hard while she waits for one of them to answer her.

They’ve been at it for three hours now, answering the same questions repeatedly. Each interviewer seems to word them just a smidge differently each time, but it’s getting tired. Harry’s had to dodge questions about his love life, which is as annoying as it sounds. The media loves to paint him as some kind of bad boy, breaking hearts and taking names. He’s exhausted.

Liam takes the reigns on some of the complicated questions. His coaches did a number on him in Connecticut, teaching him media training. He knows exactly how to spin and speak with confidence. Harry, on the other hand, has decided to stay a bit quiet now.

He’s staring down at his hands a lot, only because he doesn’t want to stare at Louis. He could look at the seven cameras behind this woman but he isn’t loving all the attention. He hardly hears Liam answer - just watches his lips move. The largest camera blinks red at them, signalling the wrap-up of this particular interview. Harry breathes a sigh of relief when the harsh camera lights turn off, sinking him and his teammates into some welcome darkness.

“Makeup check. Sorry guys, have to do it,” a young girl says as she approaches them all, attacking with face powder and blotting strips. She fusses with Louis longer than anyone else, giving him a bit of a look while she dabs and dabs at his neck.

“Couldn’t have waited one more day until media interviews were over?” she asks him harshly, nearly painting him with foundation.

“You’ve done enough, alright? _Jesus_. Can we get to the next interview please?” Louis says, leaning his head back away from her. Harry bites back a grin, keeps his eyes down. He knows what she’s covering up, knows exactly where the mark lays on Louis’ neck. He watches Niall peer over, grabbing Louis’ head and inspecting the spot.

“Goodness gracious, someone’s got a secret lover!” Niall exclaims. Zayn is staring at Louis with a confused look on his face and Liam’s got his head in his hands. Harry can see the headlines writing themselves. Good thing none of the media are around for this little exchange. When Louis looks at him, Harry just shrugs.

“What have you been up to?” he asks, his face composed and totally devoid of any emotion. “As a team, we deserve to know.” Harry smiles and pops a piece of gum in his mouth, chews openly while staring straight at Louis whose face is slowly turning more red.

“All of you can go to hell,” Louis says, fixing his hair a bit and putting on his best smile for the next reporter who comes in. Larger guy, brown suit and a receding hairline. The interview begins and Harry zones out, focuses on his memories of the night before.

“This is what you wanted, isn’t it? Secretly, you hoped for this?” Harry whispered to Louis after he finally kicked out of his own handstand. Louis glared at him, rolling his eyes and flicking his hair out of his face. Harry bristled at that, at the way he always had to fight so hard against everything.

“Did you think I was being serious? Guess I have a much better poker face than I thought,” Louis said lightly, making to walk straight away from Harry. Harry didn’t let him get far though, crowded him up against the mirrored wall and pinned him there with both his arms. He had the advantage here, knowing he had more upper body strength on his side than Louis.

Louis was always slightly weak on floor, never getting as much height and power on any of the tricks that required him to really fly. Harry would know, he’d been studying him for ages. He know his best strengths, of course, but he also knew his weaknesses. One of his very obvious weaknesses was Harry himself. They’d been dancing around each other for years.

“You owe me a kiss. I lost, fair and square,” Harry breathed, locking his eyes on Louis.

“I’d rather die. In fact, I’d rather just cut my legs off right here and never tumble again. Get over yourself, Harry. Don’t know why you think every gymnast with a pulse wants you. I was just fucking with you,” Louis had said. He didn’t look like he believed a word coming out of his mouth. Harry laughed at that, pressing himself closer, inhaling the scent of their mingling sweat.

“I think you want to fuck me,” Harry said. With that, he leaned in slowly and watched Louis bite his own lip.

“You’re wrong,” Louis said back.

“That obvious tent in your shorts would say otherwise, don’t you think?” Harry asked, loving the look on Louis’ face right then. He looked angry, looked passionate. He shoved Harry square in the chest, causing him to stumble back just a touch.

Harry made a split-second decision and swooped in on Louis’ neck, sucking a bruise to his gorgeous skin before he had any other chance to react. When he walked away, he was satisfied hearing all the deep breaths Louis was taking. He was swearing at him too. Harry just made sure to swing his hips a little bit as he made his way to the locker room, never once looking back.

 

**L**

 

He never really imagined he’d be in a room nearly buck-naked with Liam, but here they are. Louis has stayed silent for most of the time they’ve been in their respective ice baths. Liam’s not the most chatty. He’s just been sitting there in the tub, frowning a lot.

“So, do you miss home? Miss your family?” Louis asks, tossing a softball question his way. Liam hasn’t been speaking to him much since the debacle with the makeup woman. Interviews were two days ago and he’d hoped everyone could just get over the whole thing, but of course they haven’t. Niall hasn’t stopped pestering him about who gave him the marking. Zayn has spent a lot of time making fun of him non-stop, convinced that him and Harry have finally given in to their ‘feelings.’

“The only feeling I have for Harry Styles is that I need to beat him at every single event in competition,” Louis retorted at Zayn after a long ribbing at breakfast. He’d been munching on orange slices, batting off every comment Zayn made.

“That’s not very patriotic of you. Can you please just fuck him already, get it out of your system? You two are gonna ruin our chances of medaling. I haven’t busted my ass for years just to watch you idiots throw everything away because you can’t stop thinking with your dicks,” Zayn said before downing his chocolate milk and sauntering away.

Liam doesn’t answer him now, just keeps his mouth set in a hard line. Louis sinks down into the ice, shivering. He knows this is necessary for his muscles to revitalize but it’s painful. Liam pulls himself out of the bath before Louis is ready to leave.

“Nice chat there, Liam,” he calls after him as he walks out of the room shirtless, looking like a goddamn underwear model. Louis sighs, tries to focus on the chill seeping through his body. The colder he gets, the easier it can be to extinguish the memory of the other night. Harry’s lips on his neck, the feeling of his hardened body pressed up against his own. He supposes he asked for it. He felt like playing with fire, liked seeing how much Harry seemed to want him.

“Tomlinson, you decent?” a booming voice rings out from beyond the cooling room. Coach walks in with a contemplative look on his face.

“What if I wasn’t? What would you have done if I’d just gotten out and was rummaging around for my clothes? I never even let you in,” Louis says, trying to shift his legs in the ice. He’s got a pair of boxers on, but that’s it.

“Please,” his coach laughs. “Seeing your scrawny ass is the last thing I want. I wanted to talk to you about something important though. Can you get out of here, meet me in my office?” Louis’ eyebrows shoot up. Is he about to be screamed at for the whole Harry situation? Harry attacked him, basically. It wasn’t his fault at all. If he’s kicked off the team for this, he’ll never forgive him.

“Certainly. Meet you there in a bit,” Louis says brightly. Coach leaves him to claw his way out of the tub. Louis walks straight to the showers, the need of a hot jet spray of water overtaking every other thought going through his head. Liam’s standing underneath one of the sprays and shoots Louis a moody look as he walks in. Louis turns on the faucet, cranks the water as hot as it can go.

“Payne, seriously. Remove the stick up your ass already,” Louis says, ducking his head under the spray. Liam rolls his eyes. Ah, a reaction.

“Olympians on the same team can’t be dating. You’ll ruin everything,” Liam says quietly, scrubbing his hands through the tiny bit of hair he’s got. Louis turns his body to face Liam.

“I’m definitely not dating anyone on this team. You think I want to get with Niall? He’d just keep feeding me until I gained another 50 pounds. Those Southerners love their butter,” Louis says with a grin. Liam isn’t grinning back.

“I saw you and Harry, so you can just drop the act now,” Liam says in a flat voice.

“Well you saw wrong, Liam,” Louis says, the hot water starting to burn a little now. He turns the faucet off and grabs his towel, leaving Liam before their conversation goes any further.

 


	3. Chapter 3

**H**

 

Louis is tiny. That’s a very obvious fact. His light frame gives him a leg up against the competition when he’s flinging himself around bars or dismounting on rings. But it’s getting up on some of the apparatus where he really struggles.

Harry watches Louis where he stands, staring up at the rings. They’re quite high up, much too tall for Tomlinsons to reach. The rest of the team is occupied, coaches and assistants scattered around the gym. No one’s paying attention to the rings but Harry.

He could let him suffer a while longer. It’s cute, really, watching the frustration play out in his features. He’s balling his hands, craning his neck around and sighing obviously. There are no spare springboards, no one around to lend him a helping hand. His face is already streaked with chalk and he’s got a bit of it in his hair.

“Fucking fuck. Anyone, a little help here?” Louis says, his voice not quite carrying all the way across the gym. Harry takes that as his cue. He walks over, slides right behind Louis and places his hands firmly on Louis’ hips.

“Oh no, anyone but you. As captain of this team, I’m ordering you to stop touching me,” Louis says, craning around to look at Harry. Harry grins back and laughs, squeezes his hips tighter.

“You mean co-captain? Or did you think Mendella doled out that pretty little title _just_ to you,” Harry says directly into his ear, beaming. He knew all about Louis’ secret meeting with Coach, because he’d been in a similar meeting only 15 minutes before. Their talent combined is obvious, and they both are very natural leaders. Liam was up for the job but Mendella thought he was too green, a little too try-hard.

“You’ve got to be shitting me. He conveniently left out that small detail, made it seem like I’d be in control,” Louis says, trying to twist out of Harry’s grasp. Harry presses the length of his body against Louis’ back, holding back a little moan from the feeling of his tight little ass against his crotch.

“Know how you love to be in control. Bet you’d give me a hell of a ride,” Harry whispers. He watches Louis with a pounding heart, sees him eyeing up the rest of the people surrounding them in the gym.

“I really wish you’d stop. Your deranged methods of seduction are crap, Styles. Lift me up. Let me show you how a real captain handles the rings,” Louis says in a shaky voice. Harry braces his body, instinctively moves with him to hoist him up to the rings. He knows when he’s got to take a step back, no matter how much fun it is.

Louis is a dream on rings. His muscles shake with the strain, but he can master every trick in his routine. He blends from one hold to the next, flipping so quickly it makes Harry dizzy. When Louis pulls himself into a gruelingly difficult hold, he stares down at Harry and gives him a wink.

“Must be really hard for you, down there on the ground looking up at me. Admiring my muscles and all that,” Louis says.

“You talk a bigger game when I’m not within touching distance of you,” Harry says, throwing some chalk on his hands as he continues to watch Louis. “Why is that? Scared to act on something?”

“Had a lovely chat with Liam in the showers. He must’ve caught the tail-end of our handstand competition,” Louis says, transitioning into a few flips before catching himself back in another hold. A handstand, this time. Sweat is rolling down his body, pooling on the mat below. Harry smirks, glances over at Liam who’s in the middle of vaulting. He moves with grace, attacking the vault like Harry often wants to attack Louis.

He doesn’t fully know what it is about Tomlinson. The not-so-friendly competition built up between them for years has morphed Louis from the arrogant bastard he always loved to hate and objectify from afar into someone he wants no matter the cost.

“Bet he spouted off a few rules at you, didn’t he? Doesn’t he make you want to just defy them all? I know you’ve thought about it. I see how you watch me from across the gym. We’ve got another week of training before the Olympics. All the time in the world,” Harry says, dusting off some of the excess chalk on his hands.

Louis doesn’t answer him. He’s too busy flinging himself into the air for his dismount. He lands with a bit of a shake, his feet not quite sure on the landing, his brain not quite aligned with his body.

Funny that. Harry really knows the feeling.

 

**L**

 

“Another!” Niall cheers, ordering them their third round of Peach Long Island Iced Teas. He insisted on them, claimed a little liquid courage would be good for all their souls. Louis slumps in his barstool a little, already feeling the slightest hint of headache creeping on. They’ve been at The Lone Palm bar and grill for the last two hours, trying for a little team bonding. It’s not as exciting hanging out together when they’re sweating constantly and endlessly working out.

“We need a little fun,” Zayn had said, eyes sparkling in the South Carolina moonlight. They’d all been milling about outside after their Friday evening practice, stretching out muscles and taking in some much-needed fresh air. Coach Mendella wanted them back in the gym the next morning at an ungodly hour, but early wake-up times weren’t about to stop Zayn on a mission.

“We’ve got no car, and no real knowledge of anything outside of Grier Lake. I think we’re screwed Zayn,” Harry had said, fiddling with his bun. Louis had tried not to stare, instead busied himself with looking for nearby bars on his phone.

“The Lone Palm bar and grill, which has an impressive 2.5 out of 5 rating on Trip Advisor, is only three miles from here. Someone call an Uber, we need off this island,” he’d announced happily to the group. Niall, intensely enthusiastic about the plan, called up the Uber on his phone. Liam complained the entire time they waited, hovering between wanting to bolt and clearly wanting to stay and look cool to the rest of his teammates. They shoved him in the car before he had a chance to say otherwise. And now, they’re two rounds in.

“Honestly, Niall, I’m fine with my sparkling water here. We don’t need more drinks. None of you do,” Liam protests, sipping on his second glass of bubble water for the evening. He turned his nose up at the first order of drinks, shook his head at the rest of them on the second as they all guzzled down the sickening sweet concoctions.

“This tastes like what I imagine peaches mixed with cocaine taste like,” Zayn says thoughtfully, eyes heavy and a shiny smile plastered on his face. Louis watches Harry from where he sits. They’re separated by three bar stools but the distance feels too much.

Harry’s a little tipsy already, Louis can tell. He’s searching for the straw with his mouth, missing it by centimeters every time. When his lips finally connect, his tongue out searching for it, he makes eye contact with Louis. A wicked grin plays at the edges of his lips. Louis burns up, takes a long sip of his own drink, looks away from him quickly.

It’s unfair, watching him. Ever since he crowded up against Louis in the gym, ever since he taunted him so much at the rings, he hasn’t been able to get him out of his mind. A night out will do him good, let him reset and stop letting Harry distract him.

Niall orders steak fries for the group of them (“Do you have a death wish? We can’t carb-load like this. Mendella will kill all of you,” Liam exclaimed) and they all tear in. Louis moans as he takes a first bite, loving the taste of fattening garlic and potatoes. Niall doesn’t seem too impressed, but the rest of them eat like they haven’t had a proper meal in days.

“Liam, man. You’ve got to lighten up. Have a fry, it’ll make you less grouchy,” Zayn says, wiggling a fry in Liam’s face. Liam rolls his eyes and Louis laughs while he watches the battle between Liam’s angel vs. devil side play out. Liam sighs deeply and plucks the fry out of Zayn’s fingers, popping it into his mouth.

“Happy? You guys all ride on me for being too uptight but some of us want to win. Don’t you want to win?” he asks, his big eyes going soft and a little weepy.

“Cheer up, bro. Here, a few sips of this will do the trick,” Niall says, pushing the rest of his Long Island towards Liam. They all watch with bated breath as Liam takes a first, tentative sip. His face screws up (“It’s sour, why is it sour?”) but then he takes another sip, and another. By the time he’s finished, the group has abandoned their bar stools and squished into a round booth. Louis is beside himself to find he’s right next to Harry, can feel the heat of his thigh pressed up hard against his own.

Zayn begins a loud, obnoxious cheer of _USA, USA_ while the rest of the bar patrons turn and stare at them. None of them know who they are, Louis’ aware. Men’s gymnastics is never as popular as women’s, and here, they’re a little anonymous. Liam has never looked so happy, so finally at ease with the rest of the team. All he needed was a little pink drink to get him there, a bit of a walk on the wild side.

Louis can feel the wicked peach tea dancing in his veins. His limbs feel loose and Harry looks amazing, his lips flushed darker pink and a bit of color splayed out on his cheeks. Louis breathes him in, slips one of his hands down under the booth table.

The rest of the boys are laughing about something, sharing fries and swapping stories about their hometowns. Louis inches his hand over to Harry’s thigh and squeezes once. He’s pleased to see Harry stiffen slightly. The story he was telling is interrupted only slightly while he takes a pause, very much keeps his gaze away from Louis.

“I went surfing every morning. It was amazing, Niall you’d probably love it. Nothing like being free in the water, just you and your board,” Harry continues. Louis traces his hand further up Harry’s thigh, feeling reckless from the alcohol and absolutely out of control with the need he feels right now. Harry hisses under his breath. Zayn launches into a tale about the time him and Louis skateboarded down a mountain pass in Boulder. With the break in Harry’s story, Harry finally inclines his head over to Louis.

“I have to go to the men’s room,” Harry whispers in Louis’ direction. Louis laughs, squeezes his thigh a little harder.

“Congratulations. Want me to let you out?” he asks, watching Harry nearly fall apart right in front of him.

“Yes. You’re going to meet me in there in five minutes. Now move,” Harry says roughly. Louis drops his hand from his thigh, moving over to let Harry out. His heart is pounding in his ears. He watches Harry adjust his crotch and walk away towards the restrooms. When Louis sits back down and starts to count down the time, he can’t pay attention to a damn thing. He grabs a fry just to occupy his mind. Five minutes has never been so long.

 

**H**

 

Harry paces the bathroom stall, glaring at every person who walks in that isn’t Louis. He has no idea what he was thinking, asking him to come in here. It’s grubby, at best - all dimly lit and precarious puddles on the floor. There’s absolutely no privacy either. When he waltzed in, he expected a single stall at the very least. That, he could work with. Instead, he was met with four stalls and two urinals plus a set of sinks. Not exactly sexy.

The door bursts open and Louis finally barges in. The flush of a toilet kicks off his entrance and Harry laughs a little as Louis wrinkles his nose. He can read the questions all over Louis’ face already. Harry leans up against the side wall, next to the hand dryer, scowling at the drunk flusher who stumbles out of one of the stalls. He stops and sways on his feet, looks between Harry and Louis.

“Am I… am I interrupting you guyssss… is this a secret meeting?” the guy slurs, hiccuping to himself while he washes his hands. “Is there a password? I’ve got a password for you... _balls_.”

“Would be best if you split pretty quickly, maybe tell anyone outside that the restroom’s out of order while you’re at it,” Louis says, piping up. Harry is surprised at his tone. He sounds like he actually means it. The guy dries his hands and leaves the restroom, whistling to himself. Louis and Harry are left standing, alone.

“Didn’t think you’d show. Or maybe, I thought you’d show but then you’d leave when you saw the state of this very luxurious bathroom,” Harry says, watching Louis, waiting for any hint of movement. Louis turns back to look at the door, never saying a word. Harry hears the distinct click of a lock shifting into place. The sound alone gives him goosebumps, the good kind.

“Course I would. The way you’ve been antagonizing me for weeks? It’s too good an opportunity to pass up, don’t you think? We both get out a little aggression, no harm done,” Louis says, sauntering towards Harry. Harry’s back is rooted to the wall. He couldn’t move even if he wanted to. As Louis draws closer, Harry has the passing thought that someone will probably be angrily banging on the door in a short amount of time.

“So we’re doing this then?” Harry asks, settling his hands on Louis’ hips the way he did when he was spotting him on rings. He hopes to God they’re doing this.

“I want you right now. Might be the alcohol talking, might be the way you look when your shirt’s off, whatever it is, I want you,” Louis says. Harry pulls him in, no more questions needed, absolutely ready and waiting. Kissing Louis is a revelation. All the pent-up anger and competition that’s simmered below the surface for years is finally finding it’s way out in the form of nips of teeth and the scratching of sharp nails down Harry’s chest.

Harry moans then, letting Louis drag his fingers down and play with his nipples through his shirt. Their kisses deepen, intensify into a flighty reckless thing that leaves them both panting. Harry feels out of control in the very best way, matching Louis kiss for kiss. Louis presses his body hard against Harry’s, fitting himself into all the little spaces between them.

When Louis’ hand wanders down to Harry’s crotch, he makes his mind up about what he wants.

“Blow me,” Harry whispers, pulling Louis’ face away from his to look him in the eye. He forgets that they’re locked into a creepy bar bathroom, forgets that there might be a line snaking through the restaurant outside, forgets that the rest of their teammates are probably wondering where the fuck they both went, forgets that they’re supposed to be sworn enemies. When Louis gets his mouth on Harry’s cock, kneeling down on the dark tiled floor, he forgets just about everything he’s ever known.

It’s enough, he thinks to himself while Louis works him in his mouth, this feeling of giving himself over to someone else. His whole gymnastics career has been one long exploration in control, in staying within the rules and boundaries. With his hands in Louis’ hair, watching Louis bob and nearly choke on him when he begins moving his hips, he relishes in the feeling of doing something forbidden.

“Gonna cum,” Harry rasps, doing the polite thing and giving him a warning. A knock sounds on the door, angry rapping and a bit of yelling.

“In a second,” he roars, feeling his entire body begin to tense up. Louis murmurs against him while he teases a tongue across his balls.

“Maybe less than,” Louis whispers before taking him back in his mouth again. In roughly 31 more seconds, Harry spills down Louis’ throat. Louis’ careful to ensure there’s no evidence, taking him all the way down. When Louis rises back up, standing level with Harry, he looks wild - like something’s possessed him.

“Who are you?” is all Harry can say, brushing his fingers across Louis’ lips, nearly dying a thousand deaths when Louis takes his pointer finger in his mouth and sucks down. The knocking on the door grows louder. He can distinctly hear Zayn on the outside of the door, yelling out obscenities. Louis presses into him again, kisses him softer, gentler this time.

“Round 2 is to be determined. It’s my turn next and I’ll pick the place,” Louis says with a wink. Harry tucks his cock back into his underwear, adjusts his sweatpants and stares at himself in the mirror. He catches Louis’ eye in the reflection, hardly recognizing either of them. They’re the pride of the United States team. What a scoop this could be, for all those vulture reporters. Two elite gymnasts, foes their entire lives, caught nearly fucking in a seedy bar in the middle of the Carolinas.

“Looking forward to it, Louis. Maybe unlock the door. Zayn sounds like he needs to piss something awful,” Harry says, steeling himself for the questions to come. Louis unlocks the door, swinging it open to an angry mob of men, their teammates, and what looks to be the bar manager.

“Sorry all, something I ate wasn’t agreeing with me. Harry here helped me out,” Louis yells to the crowd, immersing himself into the thick of it and pushing through to go back to their table. Harry follows suit, dodging Zayn who nearly knocks him over on his way to pee. Liam stares at him too, his eyes burning straight through, as he passes him. Harry reaches their table without any more incident, sliding in next to Louis where he was before. Niall is drunk off his ass, folding napkins into paper cranes and sending them zooming to crash landings on the floor. Louis licks his lips when he looks at Harry, practically smoldering where he sits.

So sneaking around then, that’s now the name of their game. Harry can’t wait for the next time they play.

 

**L**

 

Louis has never seen Coach Mendella so angry before. The last time he was ever like this, from what he can recall, was when Nash Frangle of the 2008 Olympic team fractured his foot on a bad vault and had to be immediately disqualified from the games. Louis had been watching on television, his Olympic dreams still unreachable for another eight years. Nash was Mendella’s prized gymnast, his dark horse who’d save America from grim defeat. When he got injured, the men’s team couldn’t keep it together. They didn’t even medal.

Mendella is staring at all of them, all the yelling gone from his voice. Now he’s giving them silence, deep impenetrable silence. They certainly all deserve it. They’d ended their group outing with a round of shots. When they all staggered into the gym the morning after their late night out at the Palm, Mendella hadn’t at first sensed anything wrong.

“Alright, men. We’ve got four more days until we have to prove ourselves on the Olympic stage. Let’s start running warmups. Horan, lead laps around the gym,” he’d barked. Niall, the one who’d probably been the most drunk and had spent the better part of the night puking, shakily began to jog. The rest of them followed, slower than they’d usually be. Louis could feel his stomach rolling, started to get nauseated by the smell of chalk that permeated the air.

On their second lap, Zayn lurched away from the group and ran straight for the bathrooms. He’d never been great with hangovers. By the third, Niall was sweating, skin as pale as the chalk that lined the parallel bars. Mendella ordered them into a few usually simple tumbling passes, and that was when the real trouble began. Louis’ body felt like lead and he could hardly get himself high enough off the ground on his back tuck. He watched helplessly as Harry, usually a powerful tumbler, actually fell out of his last trick. Even Liam, typically so even-keeled and polished, was sloppy on his passes.

Louis heard it before it happened. The unmistakable sound of someone choking, someone struggling to not get sick all over the expensive floor mats. He had been focused on the pushups he was working on, willing his body to move up and down when it happened. Liam upchucked, hitting the gym mat and a bit of his tank top. Louis rolled farther away from him, not wanting to be in any kind of splash zone. That was when Mendella snapped.

“What in the hell is wrong with all of you? Payne, get to your feet. Tomlinson, stop doing those weak-ass push ups and stand up. Harry, stop moaning around on the ground. Someone grab Zayn from the bathroom and get him out here, now!” Mendella yelled, his face reddening. Niall hobbled off, holding his nose. Louis couldn’t even appreciate the view of Harry shirtless today thanks to the projectile Long Island iced tea in his field of vision. Liam looked massively embarrassed, hunched over at the waist and not making eye contact with anyone.

Niall returned with a clammy Zayn in tow, and they all stood there, awaiting more of an explosion. Mendella yelled a lot, about drinking and damaging their bodies. About taking pride in the Olympic team, about taking pride in the fact that they were from America. He even threatened to bring in the alternates, lauding them for their perfect behavior.

In the silence that has followed, Louis has no idea what to do. It stretches out now, a quiet so complete they can hear the birds chirping by the lake. Mendella is looking at each one of them, taking his time, boring his eyes in so hard it’s like he can see right through to their souls. Louis is sure he can tell what him and Harry got up to last night. It’s probably written all over his face.

“I hope you’re all real proud of yourselves. I can’t even stand to look at any of you. It smells like a god damned bar in here, and someone’s gonna need to clean up Payne’s drinks from last night. Practice is cancelled today. I expect a hell of a lot better from all of you tomorrow,” Mendella says, shaking his head disgustedly at them all one last time before walking away.

Louis lets out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding. All five of them look at each other, not needing to say any words. Niall goes to rummage through the cleaning supply closet. Louis helps him attack the spot on the floor while Harry force-feeds Liam and Zayn bottles of water and painkillers.

“I can’t believe we did that last night,” Niall whispers, keeping his voice low. Louis shrugs, scrubs harder at the floor mat.

“Hand me some of the spray, will you? This morning has been a disaster, but the night was fun,” he says, spraying a thick layer of floor cleaner, thankful for the fresh scent.

“Partied too hard. Forgot my limits, you know? With training and everything, I hadn’t had a drop of alcohol in months,” Niall says. He pauses, looks like he’s about to say something else.

“Spit it out, Horan. What else is on your mind?” Louis asks. Niall ducks his head, quickly looks over at Harry and the others before glancing back to Louis.

“You and Harry seemed to have a grand ole’ time last night. Anything you want to tell me, _sugar_?” Niall asks, his big blue eyes sparkling under the flourescent lighting of the gym. Louis glances over at Harry, who looks to be taking excellent care of both Zayn and Liam. If he wasn’t feeling so absolutely disgusting right now, he’d suggest they sneak off later and have a little rendezvous.

“I plead the fifth,” Louis mutters, sitting back on his heels and admiring their handiwork. The sick spot is almost gone, like it never even happened.

“Oh sure, the _no comment_ that actually means you’ve got a lot to say. Can I let you in on a little secret? It’s something I haven’t told the other guys. Mendella doesn’t know either. No one knows. Just me,” Niall says, gingerly placing the spray bottle down. Louis nods at him, waits for his big secret to be revealed. Niall’s sugar and spice and all the things nice, he doesn’t have a mean bone in his body. Whatever he says, it won’t be shocking.

“You know Chelsea Barrone?” he asks. Louis laughs at that. Of course he knows her, everyone knows her. She’s the one to beat on the United States women’s side of gymnastics. Her face has graced the cover of every major magazine. He’s practically got her voice memorized from all the interviews he’s seen of her, smiling big and blowing kisses at the camera. His little sisters adore her, want to be just like her.

“You mean the reigning national champion on beam and floor? Yeah, Niall, I fucking know her,” Louis says, calling to mind her fiery red hair and her sharp, steady movements on beam. Niall grins to himself, blushing a little, his face a little less green than it was a moment ago.

“Well, we’re engaged. Didn’t even tell anyone we were dating. I met her in college years ago, she’s it for me, you know? My sweetheart. After the Olympics are over, we’re gonna plan the wedding,” Niall says. Louis is shocked. Flabbergasted. Niall, the biggest sap of them all.

“I can’t believe you kept it under wraps this long. Half the tabloids talk about her being single and ready to mingle in the Olympic Village. How do you stand it?” Louis asks, watching Niall fiddle with his barren ring finger.

“It’s worth it. I love her, didn’t want our relationship being the sole discussion in the media. Anyway, I’m telling you because I know what it’s like to keep something a secret. To keep an attraction away from prying eyes. If you need advice...on _Harry…_ I’m here, darlin,” Niall says, patting Louis’ shoulder. Louis catches Harry’s eyes, feels like he could drown in them if he looked long enough. But there’s nothing between them beyond the physical. It’s just fun. That’s how he likes to keep things - detached, impersonal. He can’t get distracted from the task at hand - medaling gold in the Olympics.

“Me and Harry aren’t dating, Niall. Trust me,” he says in a cold voice. Niall just shrugs, gets up from the floor and stretches out his arms.

“Maybe not right this instant. But you will. When you’re ready, talk to me,” he says with a wink.


	4. Chapter 4

**H**

 

“Passports?” their travel manager, Doreen, asks them. Everyone nods, lack of sleep still making their eyes heavy and their movements slow. Doreen takes a slug of her coffee and keeps talking. It’s the morning before they’re due to leave for Brussels, the Olympic dream so close that Harry can actually taste it now. It tastes a lot like crisp sugared waffles and good beer. Belgium has been a vivid technicolor dream in Harry’s head for the last four years. He can’t believe it’s here, can’t believe he gets to share the experience with the four men next to him.

“When we land, we have to get through customs and then it’s an hour train ride to the heart of Brussels. I know you’ll all be tired since we won’t be actually landing until tomorrow morning. You’ll get settled in, there are some Welcome gatherings happening in the evening. We’d much prefer if you all showed up, as a team. It’s best to put on a _united_ front, being as you’re all from the _United_ States,” Doreen says with a little laugh at her own joke. Doreen can laugh easily because she has a truckload of caffeine flowing through her veins, and she doesn’t have to compete in the highest pressure competition in the world after a grueling plane ride.

Their bags are all packed and the equipment’s already been loaded on their plane. They’re sharing the ride with a few other sports from the US, women’s gymnastics included.

“I can’t believe we’re going. We’re actually going to Belgium… today,” Liam says as they make their way through the airport. They’ve got quite the group with them. Besides the athletes, it’s a generous mix of coaching staff, trainers, assistants and PR people. Harry hangs back, allows Niall and Zayn to pass him by so he can be next to Louis. Louis looks like he’s half awake. Between their practice workload and endless meetings with PR reps and media before the games, him and Louis haven’t had much of a chance to be together alone or interact.

“Can I sit next to you on the plane?” he asks, hip-bumping Louis as they make their way to the international terminal. The whole team is dressed in their official USA warmup suits. If Harry never has to take another smiling selfie in this outfit ever again, it’ll be too soon. Louis’ head jerks to get some of his hair out of his eyes.

“I’d expect nothing else, Harold. But I’m also going to be exclusively chatting with Zayn. He gets very nervous in the air. Might have to calm him down some,” Louis says. They all approach the gate, a buzz of excitement coursing through the crowd. This is it. When they step on that plane, they won’t be back on American soil for a while. Hopefully when they all return, it’ll be with some gold medals.

Everyone shuffles onto the plane, picking seats and squabbling over armrests. Harry’s got a window seat, which he’s pleased about. Louis settles in next to him, and Zayn on the aisle. Liam and Niall are across the aisle, with the famed Chelsea Barrone sitting next to Niall of all people.

“Feel bad for Chelsea. Why didn’t the rest of her team make room for her? Niall’s going to talk her ear off about his dad’s peach farm,” he says to Louis quietly, peering past him to look for the rest of the women’s team. They’re all settled farther back in the plane. Louis shushes him and narrows his eyes.

“They’re _fine_. Don’t worry about it. Okay, so someone better get dear Zayn here a drink, pronto. He’s about to spin out into a panic attack,” Louis says, half to Harry and half to whoever’s in hearing distance. Harry settles back in his seat, stops fighting the tiredness behind his eyes. He misses takeoff completely, only awakens after some nudging from Louis. Someone’s covered him with a blanket, and most of the plane sounds like they’re asleep too. He sees a few people reading as he groggily blinks his eyes.

“What time is it?” he croaks out. For all he knows, they’ve already slipped into different timezones. He has no clue how long he was out. Louis wiggles his eyebrows at him, looks like he might be up to something shifty.

“It’s time for us…” he begins, lowering his voice and leaning closer to Harry. “...to join the mile high club. You told me I got to pick time and place. Now I am. It’ll be tough but we’re gymnasts. I'm bendy.” Harry feels immediately awake, like someone’s just dunked him in ice cold water and then lit him on fire right after.

“You can’t be serious,” he whispers. “Truly, what is it with us and bathrooms by the way? Is this going to become a _thing_ now or what?” Louis just winks at him before getting out of his seat and climbing over Zayn. He gives Harry one last look before heading towards the back of the plane. Harry can’t keep his eyes off Louis’ ass. He sits and debates with himself for a few minutes. If anyone caught them, it could be disastrous. But he can’t deny the appeal of a possibly naked Louis Tomlinson to entertain him on this very long, very boring flight.

Harry waits calmly for another few minutes, happy to see that Zayn has stayed asleep. He glances at Liam, who’s drooling on Niall’s shoulder. Chelsea’s got her head slumped down on Niall’s opposite. Cute. Harry slowly rises out of his seat, trying hard not to make any eye contact. As he walks towards the darkened back of the plane, he has to stop and let a stewardess go by. His heart hammers in his ears as he reaches the bathroom. It’s going to be a tight squeeze.

 

**L**

 

They don’t even talk. Harry doesn’t utter a word when he joins Louis in the cramped bathroom. The door is locked and Louis can’t help himself, he just pulls Harry towards him. Harry follows, Louis’ face cupped in his hands. It’s an immediate press of mouths meeting, tongues touching, hands reaching, heat building. They undress quickly, elbows knocking into the confined space. Harry’s sweatshirt and pants land on top of the toilet and Louis’ hoodie is draped over the door handle.

Harry turns him around roughly and presses him up against the sink from behind. He trails hot kisses down his neck and shoulders. Louis’ sweatpants are pooled around his ankles and Harry’s got his hands ghosting over the waistband of his boxer-briefs. Louis watches him in the mirror, grinds back against Harry’s stiffening dick. He loves watching Harry’s face, seeing him trying to keep himself quiet. Louis holds a finger up to his lips, breathes out hard when Harry gives him a smack on his ass.

The pain startles something awake in Louis, a hunger he hasn’t felt in a long time. It’s a feeling better than winning, a feeling that opens up something darker inside.

“You like that?” Harry whispers, his breath ragged in Louis’ ear. Louis just nods, lets him do it again. Harry tugs down Louis’ underwear, reaching down to cup his balls and give them a squeeze. Louis exhales, his breath a gasp of warm air that fogs up the mirror.

“I packed lube, you know. Kept it under three ounces so I could smuggle it on the plane,” Louis says, turning to meet Harry’s eyes behind him. Harry’s eyes widen in surprise before he begins to press kisses down Louis’ spine, working his way slowly down.

“Where is it then?” Harry asks, nudging Louis’ thighs farther apart with his nose. Louis doesn’t want him to stop, wants whatever he’s going to do next.

“In my hoodie pocket. Got a condom too. Just go easy maybe. Haven't had sex in a few months,” he whispers, hissing in a little as Harry presses one gentle kiss over his hole. It’s been forever since he’s done this. His last decent fuck in an actual relationship was with some douchebag in college, this asshole guy who stamped all over his heart when Louis proved himself a better gymnast than him. His ego couldn’t handle it. Louis’ kept his heart a lot more guarded since. He’d had a few random hookups since, sprinkled intermittently throughout all his training back home.

“You really thought of everything, didn’t you?” Harry murmurs, licking slow, lazy circles that are making Louis’ thighs shake already. Louis tries to shift his position, his back already aching from being pressed so tightly over the sink, but Harry doesn’t let him move. He’s got his thighs gripped in his hands, nails digging into Louis’ flesh. Harry’s tongue draws away from him for a second, one of his hands moving to cradle Louis’ cock.

“Shit. Shit, Harry I don’t know how long I’m gonna hold out,” Louis says as quietly as he possibly can as Harry begins to jack him off, slow strokes between kisses on his thighs.

“You want me to fuck you, yeah? This is why you wanted me in here with you, isn’t it? You just couldn’t wait until we landed. Had to do it now,” Harry said, his voice breaking as he stops touching Louis completely. Louis doesn’t move a muscle, the mirror reflection showing the gorgeous knots of Harry’s spine while he rummages through Louis’ hoodie for the lube.

Someone knocks on the bathroom door and Harry pops his head up, straightens his entire body. He looks obscene, his lips puffy and eyes glazed like he’s been smoking pot instead of burying his tongue in Louis’ ass. Harry kicks out of his underwear, leaving him totally naked, fully hard.

“Need a minute, please. Altitude sickness,” Harry shouts in a cheerful voice. Louis bites down on his lip to keep from laughing. Harry cowers over Louis from behind, tilting his face to give him a deep kiss.

“We don’t have much time, do we?” Harry asks him, groaning a little when Louis grabs hold of his cock with one of his free hands, warming him up a little.

“Better make this one to remember,” Louis whispers. Harry slicks his fingers up with lube, pressing one finger tightly into Louis. He arches his back, the pressure already too much. Harry slips another finger in, stretching him out while beating off, keeping himself hard.

“One more, slow,” Louis says, a whimper escaping from him as Harry does what he asks. He can feel the sting mingled with the undeniable pleasure. Someone else knocks on the door, some flight attendant asking if Harry’s alright.

“Give me a few minutes, I’m coming,” he shouts with glee before rolling the condom on. He lines up behind Louis, dropping one more kiss to his shoulder before pressing slowly inside. Louis could burst from the pressure, Harry’s dick edging closer to his prostate.

“God, you feel amazing,” Harry says. He pulls out just a tick and then swings his hips back in, the snapping motion causing a burst of heat to lick deep in Louis’ stomach.

“We good? You good? I’m gonna go faster, need to get you off before we land,” Harry whispers, easing into a rhythm.

“I’m fine. Perfect. Just keep doing what you’re doing,” Louis says. He can’t get enough. Harry fucks Louis quickly, keeping a solid grip on his hips while Louis tries not to lose all sense of control. Louis reaches down between his own legs, gives himself a few good tugs while Harry’s buried deep inside him. Harry pumps into him a few more times before cumming, his breath exploding out in little uneven spurts. When Louis cums, a few moments later, he almost cries out but Harry stops him with his hand over his mouth. Louis bites down on his fingers instead, feeling slick with sweat, fire in his veins.

They slump against each other, Louis’ head down on the sink with Harry draped on top of him. They only have a few more seconds of bliss before they have to extract themselves from this bathroom. Louis can hear a murmur of voices outside and knows they’ve got limited time left. Harry gently pulls out of him then, tossing the condom in the trash with a few bits of toilet paper on top to hide it.

They dress in silence, Louis all shaky from their endeavor. He kisses Harry one more time after they’re fully dressed and cleaned up, drawing it out and relishing in the feeling.

“Next time, you top,” Harry whispers. Louis shivers at the promise of a next time.

“Should we face the firing squad? What’s our story?” Louis asks as Harry’s hand hovers on the bathroom door handle. Harry shrugs with a grin that just won’t get off his face.

“Dunno. Guess we’ll think of something,” he says. He swings the door open with a smile, greeted by a very stern, good-looking steward. No one else is behind him so they might be safe. He opens his mouth to chew them out, probably, but Harry turns on the charm. He’s infuriatingly good at that. Louis feels a small spark of jealousy as he watches Harry flirt a little, in that subtle way he does it.

Harry’s able to sail back to his seat without any questions from anyone else on the plane. Louis’ been instructed to return to his seat a few minutes later, the steward somehow placated by the allure of a few selfies and autographs for his nieces.

When Louis climbs back into his seat, he winces as he sits. The ache is delicious and Harry just sits with his head leaned back, grinning at the ceiling.

 

**H**

 

Arriving in Belgium is a bit of a blur. Once they’re off the plane and through the impossible maze of customs—then herded onto trains en route to their final destination, Harry barely has the time to catch his breath. Belgium’s weather is in a bad mood. As they ride through quaint neighborhoods shifting to grandiose buildings nearer the heart of downtown, rain spits down and streaks the landscape.

Harry is slumped in a seat next to Liam, who’s been looking at him suspiciously for most of the ride when he thinks Harry can’t see him.

“Do we have practice when we arrive, Liam? You seem the type to be on top of schedules. Fill me in on what we have coming up today,” Harry prattles, trying to make small talk with the teammate he really knows the least. Stray bits of laughter sound a few rows behind them, belonging to only one person. Niall has the most affecting, unique laugh Harry’s ever heard. It’s like a machine gun of joy.

Harry turns around in his seat, sees Niall talking animatedly with Zayn and Louis. They’re all leaning against the windows, pointing out landmarks along the way. Liam turns back too, his face softening a little.

“Missing your boyfriend already?” Liam asks, the tiniest hint of a smile playing at the corner of his lips. Harry turns back around slowly, frowns at Liam.

“I don’t have a boyfriend, Liam. I don’t _do_ boyfriends. Do you? Date around or anything? Female or otherwise?” Harry asks, spinning the question so the heat’s off him. Harry’s a serial dater, never up to anything serious at any moment. In college he could get anyone he wanted, guy or girl, and it worked. It was fine. He hates strings, never felt the want to be tied down. Tied down in a sexual way, yes. Tied down in an emotional way, no.

“No time to date. All I’ve done for the last four years is eat, sleep and breathe gymnastics. If I’m being honest, my whole life’s been like that. It’s awful,” Liam says, his voice going quiet.

“You’ve never dated ever? Like, not even getting drunk at a frat party in Connecticut and taking some nice girl out for ice cream the next night?” he asks, noticing Liam playing with the zipper on his rain jacket. Liam sighs, presses his head against the rain-beaded window. Their train is slowing down and people are gathering their things around them. Harry should be experiencing flickers of excitement about seeing the Olympic Village for the first time, but Liam’s got him feeling like a deflated balloon.

An idea hits him then, something so brilliant he doesn’t know why he hadn’t thought of it before. Doreen and Coach Mendella are both yelling things out about where they’re supposed to move next, their voices difficult to hear over the chatter of all Harry’s fellow Olympians. _Olympians_. A little thrum of excitement hits him then.

“You know, Liam. Everyone says the Olympic Village is a giant sex-fueled riot. I bet we can find you someone by the end of the games. Maybe a gorgeous diver from Brazil or something,” Harry says thoughtfully. Liam laughs at that, pointing a finger at Harry with a little sparkle in his eye.

“That sounds like the worst idea you’ve ever had, Styles. Come on, Mendella’s going to kick all our butts if we don’t hustle off this train,” Liam says, pulling his duffel bag down from the train storage rack. Harry follows, feels Louis behind him just from the breaths on the back of his neck. The sneaky pinch on his ass is telling, too. Zayn’s not bold enough for that and Niall’s too much of a gentleman.

“Brussels, Harry. Can you believe it?” Louis says in his ear, slapping his hands down on Harry’s shoulders and giving them a squeeze. He really can’t. The Olympic Village looms ahead of them, a smattering of gorgeous buildings, arenas and athletes everywhere. As they step out of the train station, the rain never lessens. Doreen is running around passing out umbrellas, but Harry’s happy to just be here and get soaked. Under Armour pitched in this year to get them sweat-wicking jackets for over their warmups. Harry’s pleased to see it holds up to the job. Drops roll right off their outfits.

The American men’s team snakes a line through the rain, Liam leading the pack as they edge closer to the buildings they’ll be calling home for the next few weeks. Harry catches bits of different languages everywhere they turn, flags of every country billowing in the wind. Brussels is just yawning awake, busy commuters going about the starts of their days. When Liam stops suddenly, Harry crashes into him and the rest of the guys follow suit.

“Lord almighty, what’s the hold-up y’all? We’re reaching drowned rat status,” Niall yells from the back of their line. Liam looks back, rain splattered all over his face.

“Just letting it sink in a second, boys. Look at this,” Liam says, motioning to everything lying before them. Harry shuffles up next to him, feels Louis, Zayn and Niall crowd in. It’s pouring, they’re all shivering but they take this moment to stop. Breathe it all in. They’ve truly arrived.

“Let’s go win this thing, you douchebags,” Zayn says, pumping his fist into the air.

 

**L**

 

“I appreciate you guys being here, of course I want to see you and spend time with you, but you really can’t be in here,” Louis hisses, gently steering his mom and sisters further away from the entrance of the Olympic gym. He has no idea how they got past security. The Tomlinson women are nothing, if not sneaky.

Louis and the team have been in Belgium officially for only a few hours, have had just moments to drop their bags in their housing quarters before being summoned to the gym for a long morning session of practice. His family was so eager to see him perform in the Olympics, they came a full week early. Competition doesn’t even start until next week for his events.

“Which of the teams is your biggest competition? The guys from France seem really good. We saw them in one of the other practice gyms already,” his mom says, craning her neck.

“Ah, yes. Leo Renault and his merry band of cronies. They’re all stuck-up and really good,” Louis says, stifling a yawn. The jet-lag is really killing him right now. The entire brood of his younger sisters have come out for the games too. Lottie, Fizzy and the twins Daisy and Phoebe all peek around him trying to get a better view of the gym. Lottie lets out a little shriek at something happening behind him.

“Oh my god, it’s Harry Styles. Louis, you have to get me an autograph,” she squeals. Fizzy blushes, starts fixing her hair. Louis rolls his eyes at the both of them, glances back at Harry who’s doing chin-ups on the high bar slowly. Shirtless. He definitely knows how to put on a show.

“You’d hate him. Thinks he’s the best at everything. Very bossy,” Louis says, smiling to himself. Phoebe and Daisy have their phones out, trying to shoot video. Louis shoos them away, promises he’ll find them all the following day for breakfast. He returns to the gym, still feeling a wave of awe overtake him. The arena is huge, decked out in vivid yellows and reds to match Belgium’s national flag.

“Tommo, come spot me,” Zayn yells to him from across the gym. Zayn’s on the parallel bars and Louis knows for a fact that he never needs spotted. Mendella’s too caught up in barking at Niall on floor, so he bops on over to Zayn. Harry starts working his routine through on the high bar and Louis can’t resist muttering something to him as he passes.

“My little sisters are all in love with you. Fair warning,” he says, laughing when Harry rolls his eyes in the middle of a handstand. He reaches Zayn flipping around on the parallel bars, chalk flying everywhere while he goes through his moves.

“You don’t need spotted. What are you up to?” he asks, putting his hands on his hips. Zayn looks a little nervous, which really isn’t like him.

“What do you think of Payne?” he asks as he strains to hold himself in position on the bars. His eyebrows are so furrowed, Louis’ afraid he’s going to get permanent forehead wrinkles.

“Payne as in _Liam_? As in, eternal wet-blanket Liam? _That_ is what I think of him. Enough said,” Louis says, sinking himself into a few splits to stretch out a little bit. His muscles are sore from the practice of the morning already plus his induction into the mile high club with Harry.

“I talked to him a little on the plane. He’s actually pretty cool. He’s got some walls up but he opened up to me. Made me feel good,” Zayn says, directing his gaze at Liam. Liam’s working on pommel. His form is perfect, clean lines and endless power.

“Don’t tell me you have a fucking crush on him, Z. Liam’s way too straight-laced for you, don’t you think?” Louis asks, moving into a straddle. He rolls his hips forward and stretches his legs, feeling the burn, loving that the snap of Harry’s hips had the power to make his body feel this sore. Which reminds him…

“Wait. You spoke to Liam on the plane? Last I checked, everyone slept the whole way. Like, knocked out and passed out sleep. No one was awake much except for the beginning, and you talked to _me_ then right?” Louis says, his heart leaping a bit into his throat.

“Oh, well look at that. Now you’re caught, aren’t you? I know you and Harry think you’re smooth and really good at sneaking around, but I wasn’t actually sleeping on the plane when you guys came back to your seats. Was just resting my eyes. Please tell me all the sexual tension is over,” Zayn says, doing his dismount easily while carrying on the conversation. His feet land hard and he doesn’t have a bit of wobble.

“Don’t think this is the time to talk about this, Zaynie. Let’s get back to you and your new lover, Liam,” Louis says, arching his eyebrow. Zayn just grins at him, grabbing a hold of his head and pressing his forehead to his.

“Just promise me you’re not going to be distracted by him now. Tell me you got all the fucking out of your system and reassure me we have every shot at medaling,” Zayn says in a low voice.

“Stop being so nosy. My sex life is no one’s business, so don’t go blabbing it at everyone. Like you have room to talk too, all this ‘Liam Payne is the most handsome man I’ve ever seen’ nonsense. Need I remind you _Malik_ , of the Antonio debacle of 2014,” Louis whispers, trying to wrench out of his death grip. Zayn’s face changes from amused to annoyed in two seconds flat.

“That was not the same and you know it,” Zayn says, taking a step back. Louis knows he’s got him now. He chalks up and relishes in the feeling of getting under Zayn’s skin. They’re best friends, but Louis always gets a little excited when they fight. Reminds him of all the history they’ve got together.

“Let’s take a stroll down memory lane, shall we? The NCAA championship was on the line. Our team was so close to sweeping the whole thing but then Antonio happened. Hot Antonio from Rhode Island. One look at him when we were in warmups and I knew you were a goner,” Louis says. Zayn tries to interrupt him (“He was from Washington, get your facts straight”) but Louis won’t let him. Since he’s near the bars, he decides to hop on just in case Mendella feels like chewing them out for standing around talking.

“Don’t forget, Zayn, that it was me who walked in on you and dear Antonio in a very compromising position in the locker room. Scarred me for life. Please don’t make me have to relive that with you and Payno,” he prattles, swinging himself into a Moy before pirouetting on the bars.

“Fuck you, man. We didn’t lose the meet because I got with Antonio. It’s because Charlie fell out of his dismount on the high bar. I don’t get distracted by sex, Louis. Liam’s probably way too terrified of me to ever actually consider giving me a shot,” Zayn mutters, frowning. Louis continues through his routine, grunting at the effort.

“Just saying, now _you_ have to back off about me and Harry. _If_ we hooked up, and I’m not saying we definitely did, it’s not going to affect anything. I mean look at him over there, he’s laser-focused. As for you, dear Zayn, you’re a dark, sexy teddy-bear. Maybe Liam will see that in you, though I don’t know why you’d ever actually want him to,” Louis says breezily before nearly killing himself on a Morisue. He’s done these moves so many times, but every attempt still gives him a tiny bit of fear. Men aren’t meant to be using their armpits to catch themselves on bars, yet here they are doing it willingly every day.

Zayn follows Louis’ eyeline over to Harry, who’s stalking around the gym with a very determined look on his face. He’s moved on to floor now, taking a turn after Niall’s finished up. Louis dismounts the bars quickly, not wanting to miss a trick of his routine. Harry moves lightly on his feet, getting an astonishing amount of height. He’s made of sheer muscle. It’s horrifically painful to watch. All those tattoos, the butterfly on his chest, the ship on his shoulder. Louis can’t handle it.

“If you want me to leave it alone, I might. Just give it to me straight though. You got with him right? Did the dirty in the plane bathroom? If I didn’t love you so much, I’d think you’re totally disgusting,” Zayn says, nudging Louis’ shoulder with his own.

“One more hour of practice time. Make it count, everyone. Welcome events start in another two hours and you all need to hit the showers badly. Chop, chop you sissies,” coach yells. Louis eyes up vault, knows he could use some more refinement on his Shewfelt. The 2.5 twist bit always makes him dizzy.

“You’re just jealous it wasn’t you and Liam up to anything in the air. I’ll tell you this though... Harry is just as confident on floor as he is in the bedroom. Make of that what you will,” Louis says, winking at Zayn before walking away from him to vault. Telling one person about him and Harry is fine. It was just a hook-up. One they’ll hopefully be repeating soon. When he begins his sprint down the vault runway, any second thoughts leave his head once he punches the springboard. This kind of flying is great for clearing the mind.


	5. Chapter 5

**H**

“I honestly can’t tell if they expect us to respond in Austrian or English,” Harry whispers to Niall before lunging into the fake sand. They’ve been in Belgium for two days and him and the rest of the team have made a gaggle of foreign friends already. They snuck a few desserts at the Welcome dinner with the divers from Britain, spent some practice time in the gym with a few men from China and have even worked out plans for a rowing tutorial from New Zealand’s women’s team. As dusk has fallen, they’ve been in a heated beach volleyball tournament against the Austrian men’s beach team for the last hour. As Harry misses the ball, he hears Liam cry out in frustration.

“Sorry, sorry, told you volleyball’s not my strong suit,” he says, trying to placate the rest of his team. The Austrians on the other side of the net look increasingly smug and quite scary. Harry would be worried if they actually beat them. They’re supposed to be the best at this.

“You boys aren’t so good at beach volleyball. We will go easier on you,” one of the team members says. He’s tall, dark-haired and ripped. Harry thinks his name is Sebastian, but he honestly can’t remember.

Zayn digs his toes into the sand, scowling out at the water of the canals. He’s such a bad sport sometimes. They’re in Bruges on a fake beach; Belgium isn’t exactly known for any kind of oceanfront climate. The Olympic games had to be expanded out of Brussels, proper. With the gorgeous canals lining the streets, watersports and beach-friendly events had to be moved to Bruges. Harry thinks it’s one of the most beautiful places he’s ever seen, would love to come back here some day when he’s not competing in the biggest athletic event in the world.

“Styles, I can’t believe you missed that volley. If they get one more point, we’re toast. I thought you being _mutantly_ tall was supposed to be an advantage,” Louis yells, bouncing on his feet and hopping around. He looks like a mad grasshopper in a tank top and athletic shorts.

“Hey. You’re tiny and therefore, supposed to be fast. You could’ve darted past me and saved us all, you dick. Move that sweet ass faster,” Harry responds easily, giving Louis a flash of his dimple when he smiles. Niall is staring between them, a big grin growing on his face. Harry turns to face him, taking note of a stone-faced Liam and a snickering Zayn next to him. Louis twerks a little in his direction and Harry is definitely going to file that memory away into his wank bank for life.

“What’s with you, Niall? Should everyone else have a go at me, too, before we lose this game?” Harry shouts. The Austrians look confused, probably have no idea what any of them are saying.

“No, no. Just… I like watching you and Louis interact. It’s damn entertaining,” Niall says, turning Harry back around towards the net. One more serve is all that’s left. Harry steels himself, senses Louis in his periphery, waiting for the ball to come their way again. Louis is the one that got them into this mess as they walked with the Austrians after dinner back to the housing quarters.

“We may look less than imposing, gentlemen, but we could probably give you a run for your money,” Louis had babbled to the tallest man of the bunch. They’d been trying to eat dinner with different teams every night. Forming a friendship with the Austrian team had been easy, aside from the language barrier - they were all hallmates. The American team had a suite to themselves, with a variety of double and triple-bedrooms to sleep in. The Austrians were down the hall, always up to party and crank a few tunes.

Harry cringes as he watches Zayn and Liam both race for the ball, colliding with each other and landing in a splay of limbs. The volleyball rolls away, bouncing softly on the sand. The Austrians hoot, high-fiving each other and screaming into the night. Zayn gets up first, holds out a hand for Liam who can’t stop muttering apologies.

“It’s alright, Liam. Take it easy,” Zayn says, pulling Liam gently up. They’re standing close, a little too close for just teammates, Harry notes. Liam looks flustered and Zayn’s got a little blush forming.

“Pack it in, men. We’ve got a train to catch,” Niall yells. They shake hands with the Austrians, turning them down when they ask them to go hit a few bars. Early practice times don’t leave them all that free to go wild until 4 in the morning. When they all stagger into the opening of the Olympic Village after catching one of the trains, Louis tugs on his arm.

“Not tired yet, are you?” he asks, that very obvious glint of mischief in his eye that Harry’s begun to recognize. Harry waves at the rest of his teammates as they head to their housing quarters, dodging Zayn’s stare and Niall’s whispered giggling as they walk away.

“Where to?” he asks Louis.

“Thought you’d never ask,” he says, pulling Harry deeper into the Village as all the stars come out.

 

**L**

 

He leaves Harry in the dim light, thanking all the gods above for keeping the security detail too occupied with their poker game in the trainer basement to notice two rogue gymnasts creeping into the gym. The Olympic gym never stays dark, not completely. There are a few emergency lights that stay on, casting all the equipment in dusty shadow.

“You can’t just leave me here,” Harry whispers, his voice echoing in the empty space. Louis jogs over to the gym sound system, fingers ghosting over all the buttons and switches. He’d had Mendella’s assistant explain to him, step-by-step, how to work this thing. He asked him to repeat the steps at least three times. The guy thought he was crazy but he taught Louis well. Louis plugs his phone into the aux jack, brings up his Spotify playlist.

“Seriously, what are you doing? Security’s going to come and bust us. I bet you $20,” Harry says, hissing at Louis. Louis presses play, noting the volume’s not too high to alarm anyone deep in the basement of the building.

“I saw the way you looked at me out on the volleyball court, Harold. You couldn’t keep your eyes off this fabulous butt of mine,” Louis says, giving Harry a little shake as he approaches him. Harry looks confused and a little sleepy, taking his hair down out of the bun it’s been in all day.

“Is this,” Harry says, cocking his head to really listen to the music, “is this Ginuwine?” Louis laughs, launches himself up on the parallel bars and pulls himself high enough that he’s standing on top of them, balancing. The opening beats of ‘Pony’ are playing and Louis is glad for all those forced viewings his sisters put him through watching _Magic Mike_. Not that he had anything to complain about, seeing a bunch of hot guys strip for 2 hours with minimal plot.

Harry has a seat on the mat below the bars, grinning up at Louis.

“Oh, this will be good,” he says with a laugh, stretching out on his back and propping himself up on his elbows. Louis starts to strip. Pulling his tank top off slowly, doing a little shimmy while he does it. He executes a few well-timed hip thrusts, trying to stay on beat. He’s grateful every day that men’s gymnastics doesn’t require any dancing for floor routines. He’d be totally fucked.

“Take it off,” Harry cheers from below, licking his lips while Louis struggles out of his shorts.

“Gotta jump down, just for a minute. I’ll fall off these bars if I don’t. Don’t want to ruin my chances at medaling just because I give my _boyf—_ I mean, best arch-nemesis on the team a striptease,” Louis says, scrambling down and getting himself out of his shorts. He’s not sure how sexy this is, but Harry still looks into it and seems to have completely missed his freudian slip. In a fit of brilliance or absolute idiocy, Louis swings his shorts around in the air above his head, grinning at Harry.

“Is this working for you?” he asks, dropping the shorts and kneeling down above Harry, his knees straddling his hips.

“If you keep moving like that, yes. What’s gotten into you?” Harry asks, his eyes on Louis’ crotch as he begins grinding a little on top of him. Harry reaches for Louis’ hips but Louis pushes him off. He leans in close to Harry, close enough to kiss.

“You can look, but you can’t touch. First rule of proper stripping,” he whispers, leaning back away from Harry again and crawling off him. Louis struts around like he owns the place, wandering over to the vault and pressing his back against it. Harry gets to his feet, follows him slowly over to the same spot. The music keeps playing and Louis can’t deny that as much as he feels a little ridiculous, he also feels powerful. Harry boxes him in against the vault, careful not to touch him.

Louis slides down, swaying in time to the beats, getting as low as he can go. Harry just watches him, his mouth agape.

“Where are these moves in your floor routine? You’d beat me for sure if the judges saw you like this. You’re gorgeous,” Harry murmurs, his eyes never leaving Louis as he comes back up. Louis toys with the waistband on his briefs, dipping one finger down lower, exposing a bit more of his happy trail. Harry almost moans just watching him.

“I’d beat you without all this, Harry. Just admit that I’m better than you for once,” Louis says, tugging the waistband a little lower. He doesn’t want to give it all up yet. There’s immense satisfaction out of watching Harry struggle and knowing he can’t do a thing about it.

“Please. I could beat you by at least a point or two, any day, any time. Now shut up and keep dancing,” Harry says with a whine. “When do I get to touch you?” Louis turns around, slots up against Harry’s broad frame and moves against him, feeling his rapidly hardening dick against the thin material of his briefs.

“Now would be great,” Louis says, adoring the feeling of Harry’s hands clutching at his waist. They grind together, the song almost over and Louis could burst out of his skin. He moves back to face Harry, wants to look him in the eye while they move together. He presses a kiss to Harry’s neck, taking his time and savoring the feeling.

“Want to get the rest of these clothes off you, Lou. Think I want to give you a round of applause too,” Harry whispers, breath ragged in his ear. Louis kisses him on the mouth, his hands reaching around to grab at Harry’s ass. He pulls his hips closer as they rub against each other, the friction almost too much. When the song ends, silence rings out through the gym.

“Listen, I want to fuck you,” Louis says, pulling back from Harry. “But if you’re not willing to admit I’m a better gymnast than you, I’m not sure I can bring myself to do you tonight.” He wiggles away from Harry’s grip and heads to pick up all the clothes he discarded. The words coming out of his mouth are lies. Complete lies. Harry will always be slightly better than him at certain events, but he’s not about to admit that and stroke his ego more.

“That’s a really shitty excuse. Come on, Lou. We’re both at the top of our games, right? Let’s just… blow off a little steam together. Healthy competition and all that. You know my reputation, I’m the notorious heartbreaker who fucks anything that moves. Let me live up to it for once,” Harry says while Louis is bent down, picking up his shorts. Louis looks back at him, wiggles his eyebrows.

“Some of us don’t believe all the tabloids, Harry. Let’s just be honest though. I know the view of my ass is amazing but you’ve got to learn patience. I’m really good at sex, alright. If you think I’m good at gymnastics, you haven’t seen nothing yet when I get to be in control in the bedroom,” he says, slowly straightening back up with his shorts in hand.

“There you go with the control thing again. I don’t have patience. It’s one of those necessary personality traits I lack,” Harry says, running fingers through his long hair. Louis wants to do that too, tug on the strands while he’s deep inside him. But he’s not budging, not yet.

“And yeah, I know you’re good. Does everyone hear that?” Harry yells, his voice echoing. “Louis Tomlinson is a really good gymnast. He’s _almost_ better than me!” Harry stares him down, daring him to move.

“So flattering. But not quite flattering enough,” Louis says, enjoying the torture.

“You can’t expect me to just walk back with you to the housing quarters and go to sleep alone after jacking off. I mean, look at me Louis,” Harry says softly, gesturing to his cock straining against his own shorts. Harry starts pulling off some of his clothing with a wicked grin and Louis has run out of excuses to stop him. They’ve got no lube and unless Harry snuck a few condoms in his pockets, Louis has no idea how this is actually going to go.

“Condoms, Harold? We can’t do this here without them. Can’t have you coming on the floor mats. Probably unsanitary,” Louis says, his pulse quickening. He drops his shorts back to the floor, feeling like prey from the way Harry’s approaching him. Quick, deliberate footsteps, one article of clothing disappearing with every step he takes.

“You’re not the only one who carries lube and condoms with you to unexpected situations. I can plan ahead too. Nicked these from the lobby of housing. They’ve got bowls everywhere,” Harry says with a grin as he pulls a tiny bottle of lube and a few condoms out that he’d kept hidden all this time. Louis stares at him, practically aching from the way Harry looks in the dim light. He glances around the gym, leads Harry back to the vault.

“You know, Harry, I’ve always wanted to bend you over and pound you up against this fine piece of apparatus. Sometimes I’d daydream about it when we were in practice sessions. Want to make all my dreams come true? Might be better than getting some gold medals around our necks. Excuse me, _silver_ for you of course, since I’m still better than you,” he says, leaning against the vault with his legs spread. Harry saunters closer, throwing the lube and condoms to the ground at their feet.

“You’re such a douche sometimes,” Harry says lightly before springing into action. When Harry undresses Louis all the way and gets his hands on him, when Louis gets Harry pressed up against the vault and fucks him hard from behind, all the anxiety leading up to their competition just melts away.

“Not a bad form of stress relief, right?” Louis rasps before cumming. A gold medal would be better than this, but only slightly.

 

**H**

 

Harry’s never seen so many people from so many countries in one place. Opening Ceremonies has kicked off, broadcasted live to viewers all over the world. He’s struggling to be okay with the fact that his face is going to end up on some stranger’s television set at any moment.

“This is the most amazing thing. Harry, say hi to my momma and daddy. Got them on Facetime in the audience,” Niall says, his signature drawl coming through. Harry peeks in at the screen and sees Niall’s parents. They’re adorable, waving at him and holding up American flags. They could be anywhere in this arena. It’s overwhelming, all the people and the noise.

“Hello, Niall’s parents! We’re never giving you your boy back, sorry!” Louis yells, crowding in behind Harry to look at the phone screen. Harry smiles as they all keep parading around, waving at everyone he spots. His mom, step-dad and sister are somewhere out in the massive crowd. Belgium knows how to throw a good party. The whole opener was a series of dancing, narration and amazing music. He’s never seen anything like it.

Liam and Zayn are ahead of everyone, heads ducked together while they walk. Harry watches them for a moment, a little burst of pride exploding in his chest. Every so often their hands brush and Liam looks so close to just grabbing Zayn’s hand, but he never does. Harry turns back to Louis, points out Zayn and Liam walking.

“I’d like to say I’m responsible for them,” he says.

“How do you figure? Have you become a matchmaker or something? They’re just walking and talking, Harry. No need to stop the presses,” Louis says, squinting at them. Harry shrugs. He knows he’s right. Ever since Liam talked with him on the train, he’s been pleased to see him hanging out with Zayn a lot more. Maybe he wasn’t looking for a beautiful female diver from Brazil. Maybe Zayn was it for him all along.

“I’m gonna go do a weave around. I’ll catch you later,” Harry says, moving away from Louis and Niall and throwing himself into the thick of the crowd. They’re following all the teams from France and Harry spots one of the male gymnasts he’s been talking to during their time in the practice gyms.

“Leo, hey,” Harry says, catching up to one of the gymnasts around his age. He’s objectively gorgeous, with golden blonde hair and chiseled features. Leo Renault’s a beast on rings. Harry’s never seen anyone with so much strength before. They’ve swapped tips in the practice room, usually the last two left still practicing while the rest of the athletes go back to crash at the housing quarters. Leo looks over at him, obviously pleased with the attention.

“Harry, my American friend! What do you make of all this? Pretty crazy, huh?” Leo says, waving his hand around the entire arena. Leo drifts closer to him and presses two kisses to his cheeks. Harry blushes, tells himself he’s just being friendly. He’s French, after all.

They talk a little more as they walk, Leo catching him up on the latest rundown of their competition. Harry’s now aware that Akira Haraku from Japan was caught doping. The whole team is being questioned and aren’t allowed to walk in the ceremonies.

“You’re sure? So does that mean Japan’s out as a whole?” Harry asks. Leo slings an arm around him, pulling him closer as they wander. Harry doesn’t dare look back at Louis, doesn’t want him to start getting a wrong idea. He’s allowed to walk with an attractive guy. It’s harmless.

“Guess this means the competition’s about to get a little more...how do you say? You know… that top model phrase?” Leo begins. Harry laughs at that.

“ _Fierce_ is the word you’re looking for. Guess it will,” he responds. “I should get back to my teammates. I just wanted to say hello and also thank you for your advice yesterday when I was on pommel. I did what you said. Coach thinks my difficulty can raise with the adjustment.”  

“You’re welcome. Listen, after the ceremonies me and a few others were going to go out and get some drinks. Want to join us? I’d love to spend some more time with you,” Leo says, looking Harry up and down. Harry feels uneasy, a little wary of the way Leo is staring at him. “Of course, only if it’s okay with your boyfriend.” Harry hesitates, but only for a second. It’d be nice to get out, immerse himself in some of the local culture.

“You’re on. And… I don’t have a boyfriend. I’m a free agent,” Harry says, messing with the curly ends of his hair. Louis has never tried to talk about any kind of future with him. They don’t say the R word - relationship. It’s just fun. It’s just sex. This is allowed. This is fine and normal to go bond with other men from other countries. A few drinks won’t hurt. Leo smiles at him, a flash of gleaming teeth, before Harry turns back to go find the rest of the American team. When he reaches Louis and Niall, Louis shoots him a dark look.

“What’s your problem? We’re at Opening Ceremonies, be happier,” Harry says, fiddling with his Olympic lanyard.

“Really enjoyed watching you flirt with that French guy. The mouth on him, my god. It’s huge. He looked like he wanted to eat you,” Louis says flippantly. Harry tenses and scowls a little.

“I wasn’t flirting. And need I remind you, it doesn’t matter if I was. You and I _aren’t_ together. He asked me for drinks later and I’m gonna go,” Harry says. Louis’ face crumbles, but only for a second. He collects himself and when he looks at Harry again, it’s with a practiced cool gaze.

“So me fucking you the other night meant nothing?” Louis asks.

“I never said it meant nothing. But Louis, you and I both know what this is. We’re young, we’re at the Olympics. And we aren’t together, you and I. You know this,” Harry says, pleading with Louis with his eyes.

“Just teammates, right. Teammates who kiss,” Louis murmurs. Harry reaches out for Louis’ sleeve but he pulls away. Harry hopes to God none of this exchange is on camera.

“I like kissing you, Louis. It’s fun. But I also want to go have fun with Leo. You can’t be mad about this. Please tell me you’re not mad about this,” Harry says.

“Fine. Have fun drinking cosmos with Leo, the golden-haired Adonis. When you come home tonight, don’t bother thinking I’ll sneak off with you to have a quick makeout session. I’m going to go out with Niall and the boys. Maybe do some sightseeing, maybe pick up a charming local Belgian while I’m at it,” Louis says.

“Fine, go for it. I wish you the best of luck,” Harry says back in a clipped tone. Niall’s oblivious to their bickering. He’s too distracted talking to Chelsea Barrone and few other women from the gymnastics team. Harry glimpses Leo up ahead, talking animatedly to one of his teammates.

There’s nothing wrong with going out with someone new tonight. Louis isn’t his keeper. As all the countries end the parade and photos are snapped and reporters are talked to, Harry feels a lot better about the events ahead for the evening. Louis has no claim on him. No one does.

 

**L**

 

They’ve hit a pocket of warm air and Louis breathes it in, letting it expand in his lungs. Him, Niall, Liam and Zayn are sprawled out on a patch of grass staring at St. Michael and St. Gudula Cathedral. They’re in the heart of Brussels and exploring the city. The cathedrals loom above them, lit up in the dark. Tourists pass by, snapping photos, their flashes going off in the night. The light reminds Louis of fireworks and fourth of July’s and nights spent with his sisters shooting off bottle rockets.

“It’s too bad Harry couldn’t come out tonight. He would’ve loved this. Did you know he’s a bit of an architecture buff?” Liam murmurs, tilting his head back to change his view. Him and Zayn are pressed close together, their hipbones touching. Louis scoffs at the sight of them, at the happy accident Harry claims as his own doing.

“Harry’s too busy tonguing a Frenchman. He’s probably dicked the whole team by now. Our competition, no less,” Louis says bitterly. The rest of the team collectively turns their heads. All of them stare at him. He notices a flash of concern on Zayn’s face.

“Bitter much, Louis? Calm down a little,” Zayn says as he knocks his knee against Liam’s. That simple act infuriates Louis, makes him want to get up and run through the streets wild. His jealousy from earlier hasn’t abated one iota. When he thinks of Harry out with someone else, that easy smile and the curves of his hips tucked into a pair of skinny jeans, he wants to be sick.

“Not bitter. Just, shouldn’t we all be focused more on winning? You can’t win if you’re canoodling with the enemy. I can’t believe he just took off like that,” Louis says, his voice growing soft. A young family passes the group, two children giggling while their parents look on with smiles on their faces.

Louis feels a pang in his chest. After the Olympics are done, what does he have? What does he really have to come home to? His empty apartment in Boulder, no boyfriend or immediate family around. His mom and sisters live in Arizona. A short plane ride, sure, but still. He’s got Zayn, but Zayn’s looking like he just might follow Liam anywhere he asks him. When he falls, he falls hard. Niall wraps a warm arm around his waist as they sit on the grass.

“Remember when I asked if you and Harry were dating, sugar?” Niall asks. Louis rolls his eyes and sighs. He definitely remembers.

“How could I forget, Niall. If anyone on this team was wondering, me and Harry, we _definitely_ aren’t dating. We were hooking up, mind you. Let’s just clear the air now,” he says. Liam shifts where he sits, bends forward to see Louis better past Zayn and his spiked hair.

“Harry’s a bit of an idiot, sometimes. Can we all agree?” Liam asks. His face is innocent, no malice in his words, just general thoughtfulness. Zayn cracks up at that and so does Niall.

“Liam, last I checked, you didn’t want me dating anyone on the team because it’d ruin our chances of grabbing a shiny gold medal. Has your tune changed?” Louis asks. Liam grins sheepishly, looks at Zayn and leans in to give him a gentle kiss on the cheek.

“I’m going to confess something. Me and Zayn have been talking,” Liam says. Louis groans and get to his feet, pulling Niall up with him and motioning for the other boys to follow.

“Talking, wow. You’ve got a way with words, Payno. Come on, let’s keep having a heart-to-heart on the move. There’s so much more of Brussels we haven’t seen, and I could use a drink,” Louis says, dragging them along through the shiny city streets.

“He means we’re casually hanging out, boys. Like, I like Liam. Liam likes me. Who would’ve thought,” Zayn says as they pass a few streetfront flower stands. Liam and Zayn are holding hands, both grinning like they just asked each other to Prom. Zayn slows in front of a flower stand and swipes a bundle of yellow irises.

“I really didn’t see the you and Liam thing coming, honestly. You’re blowing my damn mind, fellas. I’m usually better at sniffing out secret relationships,” Niall says, giggling as Zayn gives him one flower and then moves on to Louis before giving the rest of the bouquet to Liam. They continue to stroll, passing groups of rowdy Olympians as they walk.

When they reach the Notre Dame du Sablon, Louis is feeling no less miserable. He puts away a bit of his sadness for a few moments though, to really appreciate the view in front of him. The church is beautiful, pillars reaching up to the sky. It's no Paris cathedral, but close. He strains to find a few gargoyles, but sees none. Just a bit of stained glass.

Liam, Niall, Zayn and him all crowd together, their arms flung around each other's’ shoulders in such a comforting way to Louis. He breathes in and out, feeling Niall step on his foot by accident. Comfort feeling, gone.

“As long as we’re confessing deep, dark secrets tonight… I’ve got something to say,” Niall says, clearing his throat. Louis already knows what’s coming so he continues to gaze at the beautiful church in front of him. He’ll let Zayn and Liam be the surprised ones, this time.

“Out with it,” Zayn says. Liam shifts his bouquet in his arm and waits.

“I’m engaged to Chelsea Barrone. And no worries, guys, y’all are invited to the wedding. Surprise,” Niall says. Everyone jumps on him then, hugs all around. In their revelry, they end up at a cramped pub called The Hairy Canary, passing pints between them.

Louis feels some of his anxiety loosen, lets it flow out with every sip of beer he takes. The others urge him to talk to Harry, tell him how he truly feels. He’s not equipped to make a decision just yet though. He just lets the warmth and happiness of all the people around him soak into him like a sponge, getting his fill.

 


	6. Chapter 6

**H**

 

**Horan. Malik. Payne. Tomlinson. Styles.**

Their order is set for the second rotation and Harry smirks, knows he shouldn’t, knows it’ll only make Louis mad, but he does. He’s last. That means he’s the best. It’s been proven.

“Fuck off,” Louis whispers as he elbows him while he rushes past to get to the chalk bowl. Qualifiers ended up being a breeze for their team, collectively. That felt more like a warm up than anything, but now the real battle has begun. Today is Men’s Team finals. They’ve got vault finished, with solid scores all the way through. Harry’s been keeping an eye on the other countries, gasping every time someone falls and then immediately getting overjoyed. Anyone else’s misfortune is the American team’s gain. It’s sad, but true.

Louis won’t speak to him, beyond a few odd obscenities thrown his way. Ever since his night out with Leo, which ended in a drunken kiss that Harry realized he didn’t want only _after_ it happened, things haven’t been the same. Things have been positively frosty, if he’s being honest. The whole team has been creeping around him and Louis on tiptoe. Something’s changed.

Louis is next up on the high bar. Coach Mendella stands beside him, whispering things in his ear. Louis’ face is impassive. He shows no emotion, seems unaffected by the noise of the crowd. The pressure on them is enormous. Harry felt it the second they marched out onto the floor mats as a team. The heaviness, the weight of it all, it was absolutely crushing.

A hush falls over the gym as Louis begins his routine. He uses a springboard to get to the bar, a puff of chalk left in his wake as he pumps himself into a few giants. Harry braces himself for Louis’ most difficult release move. It’s like time is suspended when he drifts through the air, one twist and then two, before catching again. Harry exhales and cheers, not caring if Louis wants him to or not. By the time he hits his dismount, his feet sure and steady, Harry has to hold himself back from running to him and giving him a hug. Louis brushes by him with just a nod. Harry’s turn is up and he knows he has to give it his all. Louis’ routine was perfect, but his has a higher degree of difficulty.

“Come on Harry, you can do this,” Liam yells from the sidelines. He’s the only one actively cheering, though Niall gives a few whoops his way. Zayn stands with his arms over his chest, looking like he’d much like to beat him up after this rotation. The worries leave his head once he gets going on his routine. The grips on his hands let him feel his way around the bar without pain. One giant leads to two, leads to a Geinger that needs all the height he can muster. The routine’s over within seconds and Harry knows he’s clinched some kind of lead from the way the crowd is going wild.

“Nice one,” Zayn says quietly to him, looking over at Louis with wide eyes as he shrugs. He accepts a few quick hugs from Niall and Liam before reaching Louis. He’s last in his greeting line. They have a few minutes before they rotate to floor. He stops in front of Louis and reaches out to adjust the strap of his leotard. A camera is in their faces but he doesn’t care much. The American flag is emblazoned across Louis’ broad chest and Harry wants to dip his head into space of his collarbone, rest it there just for a second.

“You did an amazing job out there,” Harry says, trying for any kind of conversation that won’t end in him being cursed out. Louis flicks some hair out of his eyes. Harry knows he’s watching the scoreboard, gauging how much Harry beat him by.

“Thanks. You too. Saw Leo watching you, he couldn’t tear his beady eyes away,” Louis says. There it is. The little dig. The little jab that hits Harry right in the heart.

“Leo doesn’t matter,” Harry says. Louis glances over to the camera and then looks back at Harry.

“Why don’t I believe you?” he asks. “Did anything happen when you went out with them?”

“Lou, this isn’t the appropriate time to dissect my evening. I fucked up, okay. I know I did,” Harry says, ignoring one of the reporters who’s spotted them and pounced. She wants an interview, some juicy tell-all about him and Louis, some kind of forbidden golden couple. Harry isn’t going to give her anything though. She doesn’t deserve any kind of story here.

They’re called to Floor and the conversation drops. Harry slings his duffel bag over his shoulder and manages a small grin up to his family in the stands. They’ve got a lot of work still to do if they want to win this. And he’s going to win this for his country, Louis or not.

 

**L**

 

Louis is sitting in one of the folding chairs, his eyes never leaving Liam as he flies through the air. They’re nearly finished with their second-to-last rotation. The final is so close to being over. He can almost taste that gorgeous gold medal in his mouth.

“Let’s go, Payne. Come on, keep it up. You got this,” Zayn screams from his seat next to Louis. Coach Mendella gives Zayn a pointed look, but Zayn doesn’t quiet down. Liam’s on pommel horse. No imperfections in sight. He looks a little more loose today, a little more relaxed and smiley during his events. Usually Liam hardly cracks a smile for anyone, not even when his Mom screams for him in the stands and waves her signs around.

The press love her. Louis has noticed they seem to adore setting up Liam’s backstory as a calculated gymnast with the most precious mother in the world. He does a quick scan of the audience for his own family and spots the whole Tomlinson clan grinning at him. He does a little wave, settles down in his seat a bit to keep watching Liam work.

“He’s smiley. What’d you to do him?” Louis asks, nudging Zayn’s shoulder. Zayn doesn’t say a word, just shrugs and tries to shush him so he can pay attention to Liam’s routine. Niall’s warming up for parallel bars in the meantime, running himself through push-ups and handstands. Chelsea and the rest of the women’s team are nearby in the stands. Louis sees her blow a kiss to Niall. It’s quick and no one in the audience seems to catch it.

“I want what Niall has,” Louis says to no one in particular. This thought is perplexing. He’s been really good at keeping people away, holding them at a distance. But wouldn’t it be nice? To have someone cheering him on, to get to come home to a person who loves him no matter what at the end of the day? Louis glances over to where Harry’s sitting, slumped into a straddle on the floor and stretching out his back. He could watch him for hours but remembers he’s supposed to be angry with him.

Liam lands solid and Louis almost cries at the way Zayn reacts, like he’s just personally won the gold on every single event. He’s the first to greet Liam when he gets off the horse, sweeps him into a hug that lasts a beat too long to be friendly. The audience bursts into applause as all the teams do one last change for their final rotations.

“Hey Tomlinson,” Leo Renault says as he brushes by the American team, his band of French idiots following in his wake. “The competition isn't over yet. When we win, maybe I’ll celebrate with your pal, Harry. He’s a bit of a lush when he’s drunk. Did he tell you he kissed me?” Louis stands up, balls his fists and mentally calculates how much trouble he’d be in if he punched Leo right this instant. He can feel his heart crumbling into a million pieces. It’s one thing for Harry to go out on the town with their competition, but kissing them too?

“Go to hell, Leo. Like I told you the night we went out, I’m not interested. The kiss was a mistake. A colossal, drunken, huge lapse of judgement kind of mistake. Leave Louis alone, we’ve got a medal to win,” Harry says, appearing next to Louis and putting a solid hand on his shoulder. Louis wants to push him away but stays put, hating that he feels more settled from his touch.

“Don’t need you defending me. Let’s just get parallel bars over with and go back to not talking. I can’t believe you kissed him,” Louis says, wrenching out of Harry’s grasp. Harry doesn’t let him go so easily though.

“We need to talk, Lou,” Harry whispers as they make their way over to the bar station.

“There’s no time to talk, Harry. I hope you and Leo are very happy together,” he whispers back, dropping his duffel bag near the bars and starting to chalk up next to Niall. Niall looks at the pair of them and frowns.

“I take it you two aren’t speaking still,” Niall says, cracking his neck. Louis shudders.

“Not exactly. Someone won’t let me explain things,” Harry says, dipping his hands in the chalk bowl and bumping them against Louis.’

“He kissed Leo, Niall. He kissed Leo Renault, our fucking biggest competition, because he just can’t help himself,” Louis says. He feels giddy, like everything leading up to this moment has been all for naught.

Harry’s not his, he never was, he never will be. He belongs to everyone else. He belongs to Leo. He belongs to the crowd of screaming girls in the front rows of the arena. He belongs to the media, who paint him to be a bit of a Lothario. Louis should’ve been paying more attention, should’ve been guarding his fragile heart from the start.

“We’ve got 15 minutes before they start the rotation. Come with me. Please. I just need to explain,” Harry says, staring at Louis with a few tears gathering in his eyes. Louis looks at Niall, who’s making no eye contact and just endlessly running his hands through the chalk bowl. He glances over to Liam and Zayn, who are deep in conversation with their heads pressed together.

The crowd continues to roar and Louis can’t believe this is his Olympic experience, getting his heart broken before the single most important event of his gymnastics career.

“You get five. No more,” Louis says abruptly, dusting his chalky hands on his stretch pants. Harry drags him to the team locker room, ignoring all of Mendella’s protests as they go. Louis looks up at him as he leans against the wall, crosses his arms in an act of defiance.

“Okay, talk,” he says.

 

**H**

 

“Does everyone know we hooked up?” is the first thing Harry asks. If he’s got five minutes of Louis’ undivided attention, he needs to make the minutes count.

“I told the guys. They basically knew anyway. Not that it matters now, since that’s over,” Louis grumbles. He adjusts his leotard, looks anywhere but at Harry.

“The kiss was a mistake, okay,” Harry says, wanting to touch Louis but knowing he shouldn’t. “It meant nothing. When it happened, I thought it was what I wanted but I was wrong.” Louis snorts, tips his head back to stare at the ceiling above them.

“You now have four minutes. Why’d you kiss him in the first place, Harry? Why’d you even go out with him? He sucks,” Louis says. Harry ducks his head and shuffles his feet. A loud cheer echoes from the arena where they stand. They’re tucked away enough, out from prying eyes and cameras.

“I kissed him because I was drunk and confused about you, confused about us. Leo’s been helping me practice gymnastics a little. On nights all of you guys would leave and grab dinner, I just kept working out with him. I’ve never wanted a gold medal so much. It’s like I have tunnel vision,” Harry says.

“I want to win too, Harry. I don’t even know why I’m so upset with you. It’s not like we were anything official and I don’t know what you have to be confused about,” Louis says. Harry inhales sharply at that and thinks, just for a moment, about what he wants. What he really wants.

He wants a gold medal, obviously. He also wants Louis. The sex has been fun, their teasing back and forth has been a good time. Harry knows what he was really looking for in Leo. Something to fill the loneliness. Something to convince him that he needs to keep things casual.

“Do you want to be official?” he asks. Louis looks surprised at the question. Harry inches a little closer to Louis, studying his face until he’s got it memorized.

“We’re down to two minutes. And… I don’t know. Honestly. I mean, I like you Harry. I like you, and I hate you, and I can’t stand you a lot of the time if I’m being honest,” Louis says.

“Of course, only if you’re being honest. I fucked up, alright. I fucked up, and I’m sorry and…” Harry starts.

“And?” Louis prods.

“And… maybe we should like, try this. For real. You and me. Dating. Boyfriends. Whatever,” Harry says, adjusting the hair caught up in his bun. Louis sighs at that. When his hand meets Harry’s cheek, Harry can’t help but close his eyes.

“We’ve got one minute,” Louis says softly, stroking his thumb down Harry’s jawline. “You’d have to promise not to go kissing anyone else. I don’t care how attractive they are.” Harry’s eyes open and he peers at Louis, not quite believing he’s onboard for this.

“You’d also have to promise that us dating isn’t going to fuck up the whole team. They’re already feeling the ill-effects of us being mad at each other. We’d have to be honest. With them, with the media, with whoever,” he continues.

“I’m willing. You scare the ever-living shit out of me, you know that? You’re everything I love and everything I hate and it’s so bizarre trying to figure out my feelings,” Harry says, jumping in. They probably don’t have much time left to discuss, only a few more seconds before they have to go back into the gym and slay all the other countries.

When Louis kisses him this time, Harry feels healed. Like all the bad and hurt and lonely have been dug out of his skin. One kiss, it stitches him back together. They return to the gym hand-in-hand. If Harry didn’t know better, he’d think there are a lot more gasps going round the audience. When their teammates see them, no one’s angry or upset or thinking they’re about to ruin their chances for medals. If anything, they only look proud.

 

**L**

 

Louis has just finished giving all the hugs to his sisters and convincing Harry to finally give them an autograph. He’s consoled his crying mom, shook the hand of Belgium’s Prime Minister, and now has a hefty gold medal around his neck. He smiles, crying too, while he looks at the rest of his teammates. The national anthem finished playing a while ago but he can still hear the echoes, the sweet refrains that marked them all as champions.

Niall’s got Chelsea Barrone wrapped in a kiss, cameras all over them, while they gush about their secret relationship and talk wedding planning. Zayn and Liam have their arms around each other. They’re talking to their families and Liam’s mom looks like she could burst from pride. She’s got both Zayn and Liam smushed up against her, sobbing into both their necks.

Harry’s standing over by his own family, showing off the gold medal they’ve all just received for being the winners of the Men’s Final. Louis wants to protect this medal forever, wants to take a photo of this moment in his mind so he can remember it until the day he dies. They got the edge over the French team by 4/10ths of a point. Mendella nearly had a heart attack during the celebrations and someone’s brought out champagne onto the floor mats. Leo has skulked off, hopefully to disappear forever.

All the judges are packing up their things, preparing for a few more days of competition ahead. They’ve still got individual events, plus all-around to tackle. But this… this first gold medal. It’s the one that feels the best. Louis looks fondly over at Harry, thinking the word ‘boyfriend’ over and over in his head. It sounds good. It sounds like the best word he’s ever heard in his life. Niall bounds over with Chelsea, scooping Louis up into a hug.

“We did it. We fucking did it, y’all. We need a group photo. Styles, Malik, Payne… get your asses over here. Chels, can you take a picture of us,” Niall says, beckoning for the rest of their teammates to join them. Chelsea steps back, pride apparent on her face, and holds up the camera. Louis is tucked under Harry’s arm and he drops his head down to his shoulder, grinning wide. When the flash goes off, he sees stars and constellations and a future so bright it burns.

“So how are we celebrating, boys? We’ve got to do something, right? I mean, I know we’ve got more competition to get through but still. This is amazing. This is the most amazing feeling. I think I’m high,” Liam says, inspecting his gold medal. Louis thinks for a minute, overwhelmed by everything happening around them.

“I’ve got an idea,” Louis says. Two hours later, him and his teammates are stuffed into a quaint little cafe, the Maison Dandoy. They’ve ordered more Belgian waffles than they know what to do with, but it feels right. Louis eyes up the sugared batter and takes a bite, laughing when Harry knocks Liam’s hand out of the way to get to a chocolate dipped waffle.

“Why didn’t we do this earlier?’ Niall asks, chomping down. He’s taking overwhelmingly big bites and Louis doesn’t know how he hasn’t choked yet.

“We hadn’t earned it yet. I think we did a damn good job today and we deserve every crumb,” Harry says between mouthfuls. Louis is nestled against him, his hand resting easily on Harry’s thigh. The sexual tension is still simmering, just beneath the surface, but it’s enough to just sit here together. A waitress brings out a flight of beers for them, ranging from light ales to dark stouts. Liam and Zayn take turns sipping from the same glasses, pretending they know enough about beer to give amusing reviews.

“Thank you,” Harry murmurs in his ear while they pick at the last few crumbs and drain the last few beers. Louis looks at him and kisses his cheek, happy to be able to do this in public.

“For what?” he asks. Harry licks his finger and wipes at the bottom of Louis’ chin, scrubbing away an errant bit of sugar.

“For hearing me out. For letting me get over my ego and be with you,” he says. Louis smiles, so happy he could explode. The locals of Brussels bustle in and out of the cafe. Louis watches the streets outside one of the cafe windows, busy with cabs and tourists and athletes milling about.

This feeling he’s got, this comfort and love for all these people around him, it’s perfect. It’s better than winning every competition. His life in this instant, it’s better than gold.

 

**EPILOGUE**

 

Harry’s sitting on the bed, rifling through their travel documents one last time. They’ve got their passports, they’ve got their plane and train tickets too. Everything seems to be in order. He settles down into the blankets, comfortable against the crocheted afghan Louis’ mom made them for their apartment. It’s been an adjustment, getting used to Colorado.

The people here are different, a little less obviously friendly than the ones he interacted with in California. He can’t find a perfect avocado to save his life, but it’s fine. It’s an adjustment. There’s more snow, for sure. Even now, it’s falling in thick flakes. Inches pile up and Harry stares out the window, a little concerned their flight won’t make it off the runway today. He hears the shower stop and Louis emerges, dripping wet with a towel wrapped around his waist.

“You have, literally, a half hour to pack. Have you even started yet?” Harry asks, drifting his bare foot up the edge of Louis’ leg, lifting his towel as he goes. Louis grabs at his towel, twists away from Harry.

“I’m golden. I’m a very fast packer, Harry. Were you not impressed with me when we scrambled out of Brussels last year? Mendella, I swear to god, told me the train was leaving at 6:00, not 4:00,” Louis says, dropping his towel and rummaging in the dresser for a pair of underwear.

“Never saw you move so fast after a nap. It’s true, I was impressed. I’m even more impressed with that ass you’ve got on display right now,” Harry says, grinning at Louis when he turns around. Louis stops rummaging and crawls on top of Harry, kissing him slowly. Harry loves this. He loves that he can kiss Louis anytime he damn well pleases. He loves the life they’re starting to build together in this tiny little apartment in this snow-covered town.

“We’ve got to get going,” he whispers, groaning as Louis gets off him and goes back to packing. They’re heading back to Belgium for the holiday season this time. They had returned from the Olympics a year and a half ago to different states and different gyms, carrying loads of gold and silver medals between them. After four months apart, trying to do the long-distance thing while dealing with endless media hounding - they decided they wanted to move in together.

Harry gave up a little bit of that California sunshine, but he doesn’t feel cheated. He gets his own personal bright light every day by being with Louis. They cook together and fall asleep watching college gymnastics meets on each others’ shoulders. They have Zayn and Liam over for game nights and make sure to skype Niall every chance they get. They’ve carved out a life, one that’s lasted outside of the gym, and it’s wonderful.

Niall and Chelsea’s wedding is in another two weeks. Niall insisted on a New Year’s wedding and Harry can’t wait to celebrate properly with his teammates and families. But for now, him and Louis are taking the time to go back and explore Bruges more properly. He’s heard it’s heaven around Christmastime. Harry talked Louis’ ear off on their plane ride home about the canals, painting him a portrait of all the sights they hadn’t gotten to see out there. They’d agreed to return, together, promised to get back there at some point. To celebrate and commemorate and rekindle some old memories.

Harry watches Louis toss sweaters and jeans into their shared suitcase. All their medals are mounted, hanging above their dresser, a constant reminder of all the work they put in. The 2020 Olympics are creeping up around the corner, and Harry hasn’t decided yet if he definitely wants to go for it again.

“Alright, I think that’s everything,” Louis says, fully dressed with the suitcase zipped and at his side. Harry pockets all their travel documents and follows Louis out of their bedroom and out to the foyer. They grab their winter jackets and shrug them on.

A glinting wedding band is hidden deep in Harry’s carry-on. He bought it five months ago after Louis and him shared a tour by horseback. Louis had been so excited, had been grinning all day as they rode along with their tour group through Sombero Ranch. By the time they were settled around a campfire with strangers, Louis licking marshmallow and s’mores off his hands and telling Harry some ridiculous story about his sisters, he’d decided. This was it. Him and Louis, it’s for life.

They lock up their apartment and try not to wince at the cold wind whipping snow in their faces. Harry relaxes on the way to the airport, taking Louis’ hand when they get out of the car and head for the terminal. He plans on never, ever letting go.

 

**Author's Note:**

> You made it to the end! I'd love to hear what you think, so leave a comment!
> 
> You can find me [here](http://hazzayoudoing.tumblr.com) on Tumblr!


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